The More Human Perspective
by N3mesis
Summary: I was sick of rereading the same old KOTOR 2 Atton/Meetra rewrites on here, so I decided to add to it with my own flair. (P.S. Wrote it before it was Meetra, so...it's not Meetra-centric.) Maybe it's just me (and if it is, I'm sure the story's popularity will reflect it,) but I'm surprised few people have gone the direction I'm hoping to go. Hope you enjoy! It's my first fanfic. :)
1. Chapter 1

"Oh man." I said, sitting up abruptly from my seat. I looked around. There was no one in sight. I could have expected it to happen. I could have expected to have a dream that was too vivid, too true, too accurate for me not to deny that it could, in fact, be happening. Solitude was how my first dream had started as well. It ended in horrible pain, that dream, and I supposed that was why I had shot up from the pillow, sweaty and cold and shaking like I always did. I would not let the reality end like the dream. I had told myself this several times when I had received these visions, but it did nothing to help or hinder my chances of ever changing them.

I just didn't want pain. And that was that. I was so tired of feeling it in my everywhere that I felt almost entitled to this right to fight and to change the pain that had resulted from that nightmare from which I came.

I didn't bother to clothe myself, as my thin shirt and shorts covered me well enough, and I ran around to the main deck. There was no one on the main deck either, but I heard noise down the hall to my left to suggest why.

"May-day, may-day; abort! ABORT!" I heard the man sigh angrily. "Someone get the General—ABORT! ABORT! STAND DOWN! I repeat—STAND DOWN! Civilians on board-!" There was a deafening crash and shake, flinging me from one side of the hull to the next. My head slammed into the metal with blinding force, force that probably would have killed a normal human. How I wished, oh sweetly how I wished it had killed me. "All systems offline! Escape pods have been jettisoned!"

I sighed as the crash happened again, surprising even myself with the lack of urgency I felt with the apparent direness of the situation my vessel seemed to be in. I found I did not care because I had no choice but not to. I would end in pain by the day's end. I knew what would happen, if vaguely, and I knew I would know it as it happened, not before, not after.

After a long, long moment, I decided that I should investigate if for nothing else to save the crew I had picked up. They were nothing to me really, but death was death, and it was not something I could as easily abide to. I had been a guardian of such people, after all. In an older time and life, but in the life that was mine all the same.

"What's going on?" I asked, yawning.

The man turned around. Ramel Sandres was losing his cool. "General—there's a large vessel heavy in pursuit-,"

I felt another crash, but this time, I was ready. I clutched the seat hard to steady myself and took a deep breath of pleasure at the ease of it. A woman behind me fell into me and I caught her as I balanced, surprising everyone in the cockpit.

The man glanced at her as she sat after this, apparently quite shaken, in the seat beside him. "What's the ship ID?" She waited only a moment. A moment longer than I could have. "Elna!"

"The Ravager." She said, as if we should know it.

I sighed angrily. "Elna—more. We need more than that!"

"It's a Sith cruiser." She blinked and laughed a little, holding the results up to me as I snatched them feverishly from her hands. As I did it, I saw scars on my hands that were from these Sith, from these pirates, from these scoundrels. Understanding came with the premonition as I realized that I wouldn't just be facing pain, but excruciating, tortured pain at that. I would be tortured inside of that Sith warship that day…More urgency filled me at the knowledge of this, but I couldn't help but feel strangely relaxed. I could not fight the inevitable—even if I wanted to.

"This can't be right." I said, hard. "Elna—run a cross check…"

"I did." She sat back, throwing her arms up. She laughed a little again. "Twice." She looked up at me. "You're a Jedi, aren't you?"

"Uh—yeah, yeah, I guess."

Elna shook her head and looked at Ramel. He didn't have time to look at her or see the fury on her face; he was too busy piloting. I had the sense that, though I didn't know it, we were moving very fast.

"I told you." She said. She looked back at me. "We are all going to die."

There was another crash as Ramel fumbled to control the ship. I knew he was beginning to panic just as I knew I had to lead him.

"Ramel—you're doing good, kid. Stay calm." I looked over at Elna. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I felt an increasing harshness in me dislike her. "No—no! Shut up!" I pointed a finger at her. "Go to the main hold and activate the T3-M4!"

"He's a mech droid—there's nothing he can-!"

"Just do it, Mako!"

Elna waited a moment before shuffling past me, struggling to make her way from place to place at the increase of the booms that resonated throughout the chambers.

"What's the droid going to do?"

"Fix it when we're dead." I said simply.

"But…but shouldn't we _not_ be dead, General?"

I walked over to the Galaxy Map. "Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" Ramel laughed. I took it as encouragement.

"You can't…access that." He said, grunting as he tried to dodge a cannon. "It's…uh—locked."

"It's okay." I said softly. "I told you I'd get you into the ship, didn't I? Why would I have done that if I couldn't get into the Galaxy Map?"

"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think we were safer back with the Republic! Who is it that's chasing us?"

"How should I know?" I lied quickly, feeling my pulse quicken. I turned back to the Galaxy Map, staring into the blurred figures that were obscured by the security. "Lohelo'il Ki'ili."

The computer beeped for a moment, whirred to life, and welcomed me with open arms.

"What the...?" Ramel asked in amazement. "How did you-?"

"A close friend and a closer enemy, I'm afraid."

"Is that a name?"

"It was."

"Whose?"

"Doesn't really matter now, does it?"

The sadness inside of me pinched and squirmed like an animal in a cage. But I couldn't unleash it. Not to him. Not to anyone. Such was my path, however difficult it became.

"No really—we couldn't. We've tried everything! We looked up this ship's coordinates and-,"

"You'd know him, but I doubt you'd ever believe me." I smiled at the Map. It was a bad smile, one that hurt my face with sad memories and angry ones. Bitter ones. Horrible memories that I wanted with all my body and soul to forget. The smile stayed, like the memories, and I understood, like always, that they weren't going anywhere, so I forced myself to continue.

"Revan's name," I whispered. "Before the war."

There was a silence and then a sigh.

"Whatever you say, General."

"I told you not to call me that, anymore," I said, suddenly stern. "And I asked you to get me off that Republic cruiser without any questions. Can you do that or not?"

"Yes, General, I -,"

"Not General!" I said louder.

"Sorry..." he said back with a hint of that old attitude I'd once admired. "Old habits, I guess. I mean, I haven't seen you since the war and then after all that we just get a mysterious hail with you asleep halfway into Wild Space with a ship nobody knows anything about! Then, we pick you up and it just _happens_ to be you, of all people, and you won't answer a damn question!"

"The Republic knows it," I said back automatically. "Or...they should. It's the Ebon Hawk."

Ramel's face paled.

"This is the Ebon Hawk?" he asked weakly. He turned to face me. "Why did you bring us here, General? Why did we leave the safety of our own ship just to...I have a family! I don't want to die!"

There was a bang, a crash, and my head made contact with the metal on the ground. I sat up, hearing the voices of countless thousands. They screamed at me to be better, those voices, screamed at me to shrug off mind-numbing pain. So I did as I was told. I stood.

"General!" Elna said from behind me. "General—you're bleeding!"

"Is the droid activated?!"

"You need medical-,"

"I asked if it was activated, Mako!"

As a reply, a hum, little more than a whir, whizzed by me and into the portal by my head. I sighed as I saw the little capable thing, as I saw the thing that had saved my life and the lives of my friends countless times.

"T3! Run a general diagnostic-,"

It beeped at me.

"What do you mean there are no people on board?" I looked to the other two. "We're being hunted by a ghost ship!" I thought hard. "Then where can we land?"

"Who are you talking to-?"

There was another deafening crash and I slammed my back this time. My arms and legs desperately wanted to stay down, but the voices erupted again. The countless voices. So many voices…

I pushed myself up shakily, certain that I was suffering internal bleeding.

"Captain!" I yelled blindly, looking over at Ramel. He was slumped in his chair, forward on the control panel. Elna was beside me, unconscious. There was nothing I could do. The first hinting of panic pulsed through me at the prospect of my capture. The absolute fear was astounding. I hadn't believed that I could have remembered what they had done, as I had used the Force to cut it off like a worm, to forget. I remembered all right. And the voices remembered too.

"T3—set course for the nearest system! We need a jump there _now_!"

He beeped in response.

The third crash was worst, sending me sprawling down the hallway from the cockpit to the main hold. I slammed my entire body against a corner of the reactor and my head against the wall nearest that. Pain unlike any I had experienced in a long time stilled me. I crawled hard, hearing nothing but the voices and the shouts, and a deafening and strangely distant ring. It was the last time I would ever hear that frequency, but I was glad. It made me feel like throwing up. I told myself that what I was experiencing was nothing.

"Now!" I screamed. I heard myself weeping. It sounded like it came from another's mouth. "NOW, NOW! GO—PLEASE GO-!" Another crash. My head slammed against the wall.

My pain was nothing compared to their pain. I did not feel pain. Pain was not mine. I only carried it. But it was not mine.

A final crash…and the voices grew intangible, so real and so untouchable that I began to cry to make them stop. They were shouting for me to get up and to stay down. They were shouting just to shout. The noise made me sick.

There was a jump. I was unhooked to anything and was flown into the far wall. I ignored the voices, as a self-preservation tactic, and I blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain was nothing new to me. Pain was frustrating and persistent, but it wasn't nearly as stubborn as I could be. I felt pain in many ways…sometimes, when I couldn't sleep for the screams in my head, I ran. When I ran, it hurt because I never let myself breathe. Sometimes, when I remembered what I had been through in that one room, in that one prison, I remembered the pain in my hands and body. I ached with pain at the remembering. Sometimes, what was worse, I felt pain at the fear that I held, fear for a time that was passed. The fear was my form of shame, my form of self-disgust and loathing. It was my only constant, something I held almost dear to my heart at how reliable it was, but that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

So, as I felt deep, sucking, excruciating pain all around me, not in a way that I could describe, I began to suffer. It was an incorporeal feeling, not one I could describe or would ever be able to describe with accuracy, but it was a feeling I knew all too well all the same. It brought me fear at the knowledge of how I was feeling it, how closely it was linked to my soul and how far it seemed to travel from. It almost hurt for me to feel it, and I felt sore all over for it.

This soreness woke me up, in fact, to the harsh reality that I was no longer breathing. With a moment's hope and thrill and ecstasy of all forms, I decided that my day had come long before it was due. But after another moment of discomfort and another, and yet another, I knew that I was still among the living. I felt strange disappointment.

It took only a moment for my involuntary senses to kick in, for them to establish that they needed to breathe to function. I began to heave a few times, trying hard _not_ to suck in the thick substance around me. It was difficult, but it got progressively less difficult as I began to realize that I was breathing. Despite this, the pain did not cease and a deep, harsher reality of pain took up my nerves from their resting place.

I felt something cold and strong lift me from whatever I was sitting in and drop me to a surprisingly soft surface on the ground.

And then, for the first time in a long, long time, I knew I woke up.

I tried to push my body from the ground, but my body fell back numerous times, almost as if it were attracted to the ground. After the seventh try, I dragged my legs around to be in front of me and sat, numbly. My hands and arms hung loose by my side as my vision slowly began to click into place. I was somewhere silver, somewhere safe, and somewhere very, very cold. I looked down at my own skin and, for all its intriguing scars and seductive curves, I was embarrassed to see that I was completely naked but for a thin covering on both my top and bottom. My stomach was exposed, and, therefore, I felt exposed.

I sighed, hearing myself sigh and registering that I could hear. It echoed slightly and the voices and the pain that had surrounded me earlier had ceased—entirely. The absence of that noise startled me. It felt so quiet around me. So dark and quiet. It made me afraid.

I lifted myself up finally and walked over to a locker. There were more coverings there, though nothing much to be said of an outfit. I searched myself and the room and my feelings for anything more—any prospect of a fellow human. There was none. So I pulled on the tight clothes, the underwear, and I began to slide weakly along the wall.

I stumbled and fell.

:Get up: A threatening voice told me.

I got up. And I looked around. There was no one. Terror filled me at the prospect of what hearing voices meant. I didn't want to hear voices again. That was the part I hid from. The part I fled for five years…Five long, haunting, sleepless years.

"I don't want this." I whispered softly. I waited for the voice to respond. Panic made me strong, made me walk forward and out the door. It made me stumble through to a room, a medical room, that made me realize that I was in some sort of medical facility.

I felt sore as I realized this and jogged lightly over to a canister. There was a medpac in it, one I immediately bit off and shoved into my leg. Exhilaration and pleasure filled me as I received the knowledge that I would soon be strong enough to fight, if I needed to. I knew the doctors would try to contain me. That was always how it was. I had been in the same situation thirty seven times. Well, thirty eight…I never agreed to stay in one spot. How could I? Not with those things after me.

I walked over to the computer and turned on the logs.

A woman appeared, speaking about a one survivor, me, of course, and about my ship. The Ebon Hawk. I nodded. Whoever the woman was, wherever we were, they knew about it. That part was a relief. I hoped they'd be less prone to attack me if they at least knew the ship. The next part confused me.

"Aside from the lone survivor we recovered an old woman—no life signs..."

The transmission faded out abruptly, as if there were a power surge. I felt a pinch in my heart and tears come to my eyes with guilt and loss. Elna and Ramel had gone out of their way to die for me, again, only this time I could not help them cheat death.

I'd done it one too many times, I guess. Help people cheat death. Ramel, I knew he'd volunteered, but Elna...he'd dragged her into it. Coaxed her along. He couldn't do it alone, after all, and she didn't know me. Nobody did, he'd surely said. He'd obviously concealed the fact from her that I was a Jedi. To her, I was just some nobody with a ship no one knew. They could just as easily sneak me out of that sticky mess and get recovered in no time.

Only they hadn't recovered. Ramel and Elna were dead, and that - like all the rest - was solely on me.

I listened for more as the woman's mouth moved without noise, only to regret it with all my heart. "Could be a Jedi…but we won't know for sure until we get the transmission back from the Republic-,"

I shut off the terminal, in another panic, a panic that felt much realer to me. The Republic had tracked me. But that didn't make sense. I furrowed my brow, hoping to wish away the truth. Ramel, Elna, and I had left the nice, safe, warm Republic warship to go get lost in space somewhere until we got lost. Then, they'd drop me off and return to their ship.

The Sith couldn't know of me unless the Republic had spoken of me through an insecure channel. I cursed the fact, wishing I'd been woken up sooner to prevent this. That meant I'd been out of it long enough for the Republic ship to find out who I was and broadcast it. And if they knew, the Sith sure as hell were going to find out.

Or they had already. We'd been shot down by the Ravager. The Sith ghost ship that chilled my bones.

My steps took me from that room and into the room across…It was the morgue, I saw. Some bodies looked sliced open and left, almost as if the doctor had cut the people open and fled…I saw a woman at the end, one who had not been operated on. It looked almost as if she were being avoided altogether. The next occupied bed was three beds over and the closest tools were on the other side of the room. I supposed, without really knowing how, that this was the woman of which the transmission had told me.

I sighed, looking away from her and deciding to avoid her myself, and I began to rummage through the corpse of the man closest me. It was the quickest way to clothing, by the way I saw it, and I probably would have acquired clothes too if it hadn't been for the voice, that same voice from before.

"Find what you're looking for amongst the dead?"

I turned to see the woman, the dead woman at the end, breathing and quite alive. She was hooded, hooded entirely, and I found it difficult to assume if I could trust her or not as I could not see her face. I found it strange to be talking to her, to a dead person, and I considered the notion that I was probably still asleep…But the pain I felt was much too real for me to think much into it.

"Who are you?" I asked confrontationally. I was in no mood to make friends. I didn't make friends. I had let myself…It was just so easy to make friends. Not making friends was hard, usually. But right then, as I stared at her pale, deathly pale, skin, I decided I was not in the mood to be friends with her sort. She emanated danger and made me feel…cold. An icy feeling pushed at my lower back where I could sense a presence larger than her own begin to envelop me.

"I am Kreia, and I am your rescuer. As you were mine. Tell me—do you recall what happened?"

I decided to lie. "Last thing I remember…" I pretended to look strained. "I was on board a Republic ship—the Harbinger—What happened to it?"

"Your ship was attacked. You were the only survivor. A result of your Jedi training, no doubt."

I bit my tongue to hold it in my mouth. Fear of every kind made me tense and anxiety began to take away my breath. Though I had just woken, I felt exhausted from the spikes of intense emotions…

"I'm not-,"

"Your stance, your _walk_ tells me that you are a Jedi. Your walk is heavy…" She smiled knowingly. I didn't like it. It made me cry a little, inside. With her words, there was no end to fear. "You carry something that weighs you down..."

"Listen—lady, uh, Kreia." I swallowed, hard. "Why don't we deal with the now, okay? Why is everyone gone? Where are we?"

She smiled knowingly. The mere presence of it annoyed me. "I do not know. I was removed from the events of the world as I slept. A survey of our surroundings may provide the answers from which you seek truth…The ship we arrived in must still be in this place. We should return to it and leave—at once."

Foreboding filled me. "Why are we in a hurry?"

"We were attacked once, and I fear our trackers will not give up the hunt so easily." She grimaced. "A Jedi of your stature should know this."

"I'm not-,"

"Go. Leave me. You must find the one beyond these walls."

And, as I meandered forward, not side to side, I began to discover a horrifying and uncomfortable truth: we, she, me, and this mystery third, were all alone. As I stumbled and fell through hallways and doors, I found droids that attacked on sight. Walls were painted with the blood of what had obviously been personnel.

_What the hell happened here?_ I thought to myself wearily.

Something had happened. Something was terribly wrong. And, I was sure, that this something had almost certainly everything to do with me.


	3. Chapter 3

:Ah…you feel it…: Her voice was knowing, irritatingly knowing. I had spoken nothing to her about me, not at all, and she already knew things no one had figured out in five long years. :Embrace this feeling—the force, my child…It is the force flowing through you again.:

"I don't want this." I muttered to her again. I knew she heard me, though I had left her a good two hours ago.

:Ah…Beyond this door someone yet lives…Be mindful.:

I gripped my gun and glanced at myself, facing this locked metal door. I had no shoes, no shirt, and a pair of climbing shorts that were too big for my taste. They hung past my knees just barely and were loose around my hips. The underclothing that covered my breasts was large enough to be a shirt to sleep in, but I would never be seen out in public that way.

I just wasn't raised that way. In fact, I hadn't been raised to reveal skin at all. Jedi dressed in plain clothes. In my life even before the Jedi, modesty was key. Modesty did not imply a reservation with revealing skin, nor did it suggest that I was unfamiliar with the implications clothing could convey. The actions that usually resulted from a certain type of dress, particularly in women, was not lost to me.

Even before my long time of solace, I had time to learn and watch. I was good at it, being in the background and seeing, not being the center of attention. It had served me well in the war full of men. Boys and their _urges_. Soldiers were…_open_ like that, even if most of them shot upwards into a respectful, sometimes fearful attention as I passed – or shushed one another because I was a girl.

But, no, it was my time after the war that I'd discovered what it meant to hide, to blend, to _watch_. I'd learned more in the years of my wandering – facts all that weighed on my heart – in all the time of my time spent in my happy, even joyous, upbringing on Dantooine. Even the war had not showed me what my time alone had showed me. In my exile, I had learned what it meant to be a part of a demographic of wandering, hopeless, joyless souls that searched for purpose and hungered for longing and lusted for a pair of arms that would embrace me in hopes it would provide all the answers I needed.

Even then, I experienced it as an outsider. I always had been. I watched with the cold anthropological keenness of a scientist on an expedition. The galaxy, its sluts, its drunks, its gamblers, its heroes, its villains, they all meant nothing to me.

And, even so, I was tied to them just as they were to me, and that was what it was that led me to that place and that time in a dark and strangely windy metal passage on a backwater mining facility in the middle of nowhere, unclothed, unprotected, unprepared, vulnerable, and weak.

_Exhausted_.

I looked down at myself again. The garb wasn't so terrible, I convinced myself after a minute. I had needed to wear worse in what I called the Dark Systems: Nar Shadaa, Nal Hutta, the lower levels on Coruscant, Taris. My time there was as dark as space, as vacuous and meaningless as tooth pulling, but more of the pain. It had been simple desperation then. Like a stagnant worm, I had squirmed and slithered until somebody would yank me up and rip me in half before dumping me to repair myself again.

Yes, those were the Dark Times. Nar Shadaa, the Dark Planet. The clothes I'd had to wear just to blend in sometimes made me red with humiliation and anger.

But, I reminded myself to jostle my mind to the present, now was not then. Now was now. And now required immediate attention, clothing or not.

Forlornly, but resignedly, I tugged at the shirt on my body. Given the option, I guess, half-dressed was better than _not_ dressed.

"I _hate_ finding clothes," I grumbled, turning to pace with nerves I didn't quite understand.

No, I did understand them. I made a point not to meet new people of any kind. It was sort of a habit of mine. Better. Safer. And, if I had to, I certainly wouldn't have chosen to meet them with the garb I had on.

I liked _my _clothes. I didn't like unfamiliar clothes. They never fit me. My body shape was strange, rounded but small, and no one designed clothes to fit curves like mine for women my height. It was not with arrogance that this thought struck me but disdain.

Beauty was a curse, a malign tumor. It was as much a worm as the evil that stemmed out of Nar Shadaa. It could not be hidden, and it was always exposed. It was a heart on my sleeve that I could not hide. People used it to warm me to them, to manipulate me, to use me, to lure me in. People saw me as a body, as flesh, as bones and a heartbeat.

Like an animal.

Because of it, being called beautiful made me feel vile. What use was it?

I felt cold and exposed, thinking this, wearily acknowledging again that I was beautiful and hating it.

I did not want to meet a new aggressor, and I knew my self-reflection was a stalling mechanism.

:Interesting…:

She trailed off to make me ask. I rolled my eyes at her cryptic voice.

"What is it?" I asked aloud, feeling crowded within myself.

I felt chills as I realized not one person but two could occupy my head. It hadn't bothered me before. That was long, long before. That was in a time where I was drilled tirelessly on meditation, telepathy, controlling my fears and weaknesses and emotion…Long before. I had been drilled for countless hours to control my resistance, to hound my relentless, passionless abilities. I was like a loose cannon compared to what I once was. I wondered what the old me would have thought about my new wardrobe, wandering around a deserted mining facility, half naked, searching in vain for anybody to help me.

The thought of outside help brought tears to my eyes, as it always did. Drowning was like that. The surface made it harder to breathe, especially when you were right below it all the time.

:His thoughts are difficult to read…: The old woman in my head seemed to think. :You have nothing to fear from this one.:

"That's easy for you to say a good two hours behind me." I whispered. I knew she heard me.

But she said nothing.

I sighed heavily, more heavy that I would have liked to sigh, and I opened the door.

I heard a drawl, a sarcastic, strangely charming voice that made me red all over and chilled with anger all at the same time. "Nice outfit—what, you miners change regulation uniforms while I was gone?"

My anger was the larger part, taking the place of my fear. I knew fear was anger and anger could be turned into power—or positive reinforcement, as the Jedi claimed. I felt another pulse that I didn't want as I stared at him. He was in a security field. He was incarcerated. I wondered what for.

As I approached I noticed how strangely beautiful he was, though it was not obvious at first. From afar, he looked smelly and sweaty—even a little starving, like he hadn't been fed for a long while. His shirts were all untucked and his vest lay open to expose a surprisingly strong and lightly hairy chest. But up close…he held himself—differently. Like he wanted to help. It was difficult to explain. But the way his hair fell into his face naturally, the way he didn't bother to brush it out due to eagerness in the present, the way his eyes—wouldn't meet my own.

They lapped up my body like I was a drink of water to a man in the desert.

Anger took me over again.

"Keep your eyes up and tell me who you are!" I said loudly.

_Was that _my_ voice?_ I found myself wondering. My accent from my childhood stained it a little.

He didn't comply with the first part of my demands.

"Atton…Atton Rand." He shrugged, as if he didn't have a care in the world. In reality, he looked cold and tired and hungry, but I doubted he would have admitted it if I asked to help him. He continued, "Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes _minor_ electrical burns."

I said nothing. He looked surprised, maybe a little perturbed, at my motionlessness. I looked around, walked past him to a computer, and asked, "Well…Mr. Rand…" I turned back to him. "Why don't you tell me why you're locked up?"

"It says-,"

"Why don't _you_ tell me why, Mr. Rand?" I smiled sweetly. He complied, staring almost aggressively at the skin I wished was covered from his prying, and offensively crass, gaze.

"Security claimed I violated some trumped up regulation or another, take it up with them if you want. But they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me. Now _that's_ criminal."

"Ironic hearing it from the incarcerated, Mr. Rand." I walked back over to him, feeling the gun on my hip very, very heavily. Something about him made me want to hurt him, I just wasn't quite sure what it was.

"What happened here?" I asked coldly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, still unable to meet my eyes. I crossed my arms, embarrassed, and I sighed.

"The place is deserted. What happened?"

"You mean before or _after_ that Jedi showed up? Either way, it's a real short story…You see, this Jedi shows up, and you know that that means—where there's one Jedi, the Republic will soon be crawling up your ion engine in no time."

He told me the story.

I exchanged meaningless words with "Atton" feeling myself cringe more and more. I wasn't used to talking to people, especially without revealing that the person he seemed to distrust most was the Jedi and therefore was me.

I felt exhausted after only a few minutes of his banter because I knew I was obligated to respond with equally witty remarks. It was a game people like him played, and if you failed, they'd leave you behind. And I badly needed help.

Something about it felt like he was the last person on the planet, and that was good enough for me. Like a wit's end. I'd had it with running.

But it had been years since I had talked to _anyone _for that long, so this task was incredibly trying. My head also pounded from the crash and I knew a large gash there that was beginning to heal over gave my whole face a battle-worn, weary look.

:Listen to his words…"

"Shut up!" I snapped.

He stopped talking suddenly.

"Gee-,"

"No, not—I'm sorry, I…" I ceased talking. That had been a mistake. I was a fool. I was a damned fool. "I didn't mean it to—I'm sorry." I turned back to the computer, feeling overwhelmed. "I'll just-,"

"Hey, wait a minute—you're that Jedi the miners were talking about!"

I had my gun out in a moment, slowly backing away. He reached for the top, as if to try to deactivate it. The chances were slim, as I had only seen it done once, but they weren't impossible. All it took was a short and shoddy craftsmanship. I was willing to bet a sketchy mining facility wouldn't invest in the most expensive, high quality cells.

"Leave it!" I snapped.

My voice sounded harsh again, and cold. It didn't at all feel like my own voice. But I had used it more and more as of late. I didn't have the luxury of trusting or talking or laughing. Disappointment stained my resolve to acquire the man's aid, and I felt so much bitterness that tears almost spilled from my eyelids.

"You wanna collect too? I taught Revan himself—you _better_-!" I turned around. "You know what? I'm not even going to shout at you, trash." I smiled as I turned around, knowing he had stopped and would look at me. "Come get me, I dare you."

"No, no, no, no!" he called.

He was sincere. Or he seemed it. Too bad I didn't trust anyone.

"And they think they can send out a special squad, lure me here like vermin to be exterminated? Oh, and I bet you're the best, right? That's what they all say!" I felt as much as I heard myself snarling. "That's how they do it! Last team failed, up to you to succeed! Well, let me tell you something, _Atton_! I have come too far and ran _too_ long to die here at the hands of some fracking liar who has the audacity to look me in the eye and have a conversation before terminating me! How _dare_ you!"

He didn't know where to look now, but his eyes were no longer on my body or my eyes. He seemed to search around as if my barbs were like lashes from a whip.

"Much better men than you have tried to collect on me, I assure you!" I shouted. "And I've butchered them!" Guilt poisoned my words. "I killed them _all_! And for what?" I turned away, half-aware that my tirade was less directed at him now. "To _live_? Is that what I'm doing? Is that what this is? _Living_? Is that what _you're_ doing?"

It had been a while since anybody had identified me. A long, long time.

How terrifying it was to be recognized and known, and how awful it was to face that fear without the confirming shoulder of the Order to return to when I felt afraid.

The absence of the order, of my master, of it all dawned on me in a way it hadn't in a very long time. Sadness – bitterness – gnawed at my insides, cooling my rage.

He'd turned away from the roof of the cell, all hopes of escape gone. He seemed just as breathless as I was, and almost as sad and lost. He stared at me wordlessly.

"I'm leaving," I said, sighing, putting a hand on my forehead. "Just don't follow me, okay? And you better tell your other dogs to back off, if they're hiding somewhere. I survived that crash, and I can guarantee you I'm sure as hell going to survive this."

_I actually kind of liked you in a way_, I found myself thinking sadly, remembering again the solace and the pain.

"Hey, come back!" he called. "It's not what you think!" I didn't stop. "Come on! I didn't mean anything by it! I…Where is everybody? Come back—come on!" I didn't stop, and it killed me. "_Please_!"

"You want me dead too?" I asked him, the anger returning as I flipped to stare into his eyes. "I'm not like other Jedi! I didn't damn myself like they did! I tried to HELP people—as if you would know anything about that. I fight when they ask me to fight and stop when they tell me to stop! I did _everything_ that they asked! I'm not like those other hypocrites and liars!"

I retracted. The last sentence was confusing and inexcusable. I didn't mean to say it. Genuine guilt passed through his eyes. I was even more suspicious.

He finally managed to open his mouth.

"Look," he offered softly, "I didn't mean to sound-,"

"No, you know what?" I asked, feeling tears run down my cheeks. "I was persecuted with all of the rest! So if you want to kill me or hurt me or turn me into some dark lord of the Sith, that's actually _fine_. I don't care what you do with me anymore. I have nothing to lose."

The last part slipped out, and I had to close my eyes. But I saw his eyes. The guilt there seemed to turn to anguish, like he was seeing a sad result to a bad means.

There was an entire minute of absolute silence but breathing and reeling in. The energy that spilled out of me was addicting and intoxicating, but it was dangerous ground.


	4. Chapter 4

I'd nearly lost control.

_This is what happens when the Force is back,_ I snapped internally at the old woman.

She said nothing, and her silence cooled my rage and fanned my own embarrassment.

I sighed and put the gun away, feeling foolish. I walked back to him, running my hands through my hair. "I apologize," I finally offered. "I have no idea where that came from."

He missed only half a beat.

"Well, as long as you unload on me in different ways too, I sure don't mind." He smiled at me wickedly as his eyes deliberately scanned my flesh once more.

It made me tired.

"I don't _know_ where the people are…" I took a breath. His face changed somewhat. Pitying. But every flash of humanness gave away a multitude of disdain, lust, anger - fury even. He made me afraid.

"This facility seems abandoned," I finally said. "Know anything about that?"

"The miners can't all be gone…" He seemed stunned, as if he'd seen many Jedi and he'd never seen one quite like me. "But if they are…Hey, look. I can help you—I can."

"No one can help me," I said evenly. I approached him and looked right into his eyes. "Not even you."

"You don't know me," he offered uncomfortably.

"I know you're smooth-talking, and that's dangerous." I'd seen a million types like him before. His act was nothing new or even refreshing. Just old and tired. "I probably know you better than you want me to by now."

Suddenly, something dawned on him, and his features twisted in anger.

"Don't go in my head, Jedi!" he nearly shouted. "Stay away from my-!"

"I didn't go in your head, dammit!"

I'd taken a step away from his outburst, but my admission didn't cool his anger.

"Jedi aren't supposed to swear," he snapped sullenly.

"I am no Jedi," I said evenly, eyeing him down.

Politely, subconsciously, in a way that helped us both rather than invaded, I felt myself allow Kreia to "trip" through that wall of guilt of his. Though, I felt her then. Cold. Appraising. It could not be comfortable, and I yanked her back from him breathlessly with the feeble control that I had. But, in the retreat, I saw that he was overwhelmed with me. He drowned in me. The thought disturbed me. I walked back towards the door again, away and out of his life forever.

The motion silenced his disdain, as if his survival rested solely with me.

"I was just trying to say I saw your record on the computer." I scowled. He looked permanently stunned. "I don't use _that_, thank you very much — not unless I have to."

"Oh?" he spat. "And when is that?"

"When the children from my home village are being stabbed into the ground because I came from there," I said levelly. "When a man reaches for a friend and tries to rape her. When innocent lookalikes are being tortured to get to their masters that don't and have never existed." I laughed bitterly. "Some of them weren't even Jedi." I looked into his eyes distantly. "Not many people know that, you know?" I smirked again, feeling that sense of knowing without even knowing how. "But I bet you did, didn't you?"

With all of his other emotions—sadness, anger, surprise—there was…remorse.

"I don't use it often." I said emphatically. "I don't like being in two places at once. But I won't hesitate if my life is being threatened. Nothing more than my own safety could motivate me to manipulate somebody else. It's a hard call. Or it was, once."

_Tell nothing more to the fool._

"Get OUT of my head!" I screamed.

_You are in need of guidance. Your fear-_

"If I am afraid, it is by my own head not yours." I shook my head violently. "I hate this."

_Hate not the Force but will it_.

"I don't feel the Force anymore." I snapped. "I don't want this—I don't want-,"

"But—is that possible?" Atton asked.

"What?" I asked. My eyes swam around.

"Not to feel the force anymore. Can you…can you do that?" He seemed afraid. "Once you feel it, I thought it was like a venereal disease. It doesn't go away."

"Nice," I said, upturning my mouth with disgust.

But when I glanced at him, I saw that he was earnest, fearful. He wasn't attempting to insult me. He even gave me a flash of guilt to struggle with, and then confusion, like he didn't know why being sacrilegious around me bothered him. He was testing the waters. While I was aware of his particularly _disgusting_ type of vulgarity, I would have none of it. As it always had, it exhausted me, exasperated me. I was above it.

As was he.

"I thought once it was in you, you were poisoned with it."

I snorted bitterly.

"What you call poison others might call bliss."

"Whatever, what do you know of it? Are you the Jedi or not?"

"No, I am an exile of the Jedi Order."

"And how is that different?"

"Your questions reveal your ignorance, Rand," I said wearily.

_Speak nothing more to the fool!_

I shouted out, clasping my hands to my ears.

"Enough!" I whispered through clenched teeth. "I lost it for a reason! This isn't allowed!"

"You _lost_ the Force?" he asked, almost breathlessly.

My voice shook.

"It…hurts," I whispered, a strange and desperate admission. I put a hand around my stomach and the other wearily on my forehead. "It hurts every second of every day now. They made it that way, I bet. To make me suffer. It's like…it's like making sight a painful sense, making touch rough, making light too bright, making hear too loud." He didn't know what to say. A true ring of pain panged through my head. I sighed. "But it doesn't really-,"

_Speak nothing more to the fool!_

"I do as I wish—you will not control me, demon." I scowled to her, hoping she could see it. "Try again and I will leave this station forever with you in it."

_Your fears are foolish, indeed!_

"If I am afraid, it is by my own head, not yours," I repeated.

"You're afraid?" Atton asked, blinking hard, like he was shocked. I heard his mocking tone. "But Jedi don't feel _fear_."

"You don't know the meaning of the word." I spat, turning to him as close as I allowed myself to dare.

"I think you'd be surprised."

"That you invoke it in others?" I asked, shrugging. "It couldn't matter less to me."

_Speak nothing more to the fool_.

I shuddered and swayed, realizing for the hundredth time that I was alone and yet I heard more than one voice within me. It was something I didn't miss. Something I wished I would continue not to miss.

I tried hard to remember. I blinked an extended blink struggling to shield myself from her, from everything, from Atton, especially from fear—but for nothing. I felt everything all at once at my attempt and I felt weaker than ever.

I put a hand to my chest and woke back to reality.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. My voice shook. "She's, uh…she's in my…" I didn't know what to say. I felt nauseas. "We're…" I cleared my throat. The voices heard it and continued to hound me into coldness. "Let's hurry this up."

I shuddered and walked back over to the com. He watched me strangely, like he'd never seen my kind of Jedi before. I rolled my eyes. "I am not patient enough for you to analyze me, convict. And, you filthy, stinking nerf-herder, you better adjust your eyes pretty quick or I swear I will take yours."

It was the first time I saw his eyes. He was intimidated. I was pleased.

I shuddered again as Kreia's presence overwhelmed me. I threw a wall up, a familiar—if weak—wall, but it was effective for the time. I sighed with relief.

"There's another one here. A dying Jedi." The force cage flickered and then died. He was still silent, and he did not move, but the removal of a barrier between us caused electricity to spark in the room. I flinched almost violently, retracting and taking a step back, suddenly feeling nauseous and breathless. And he noticed, but he didn't act on it, even if his eyes spoke volumes again of what my reaction to lightning did to him.

All he said was,

"A little jumpy, huh?"

I nodded grimly.

"You don't know the half of it," I finally admitted.

I shook my head again, feeling good to have just me there.

"I would bet any amount of credits she's a Sith." My hand went to my hip to check if my sword was there. Then I rolled my eyes. Only a gun was there. How long had it been, and I still hadn't broken the habit?

"Ten years..." I found my mouth answering.

That amount of time was staggering.

"I hate Sith." I began to mutter to myself, struggling with the wall in my head _and_ speech. I had never mastered it, even as a child. "Hate Jedi, hate Sith, hate the Force—dammit!"

_You will not win,_ she said victoriously.

"But I will certainly try."

_This sickens you. Why?_

"It reminds me of harsher times," I responded aloud, completely unaccustomed to responding telepathically.

_You should not try to shut me out-_

"I shut you out when I want." I threw up a wall again, almost as if her words had provoked me into doing so, but it was weak and crumbly. "It's my head—not yours." I blinked hard and felt immediately better where before I felt feverish.

_Why do you fight? Why do you feel sickness?_

I leaned over a little.

"Hey, are you alright?" I heard him ask far off.

I felt bad, worse than I had in years.

_Why let the sickness seduce you?_

"I am not sick," I responded out loud. "I am not."

_Does this remind you of murders you've committed?_

"I am not a murderer!" I whispered menacingly. With a surge of extreme hate, a wall was up—a strong one. I looked over at Atton. He watched me intently, his brown hair falling into his face untouched. "I am no murderer…Do not judge me…"

_He is below your opinion-_

I pressed my hands to my temples hard, trying to remember.

"What is the technique? They told me—I know. The Sith use it…" I began to pace. "Remember now. Remember the Sith, remember, remember-,"

And, suddenly, I remembered where I was and that I should probably not speak of it in such a way. I kept my mouth to myself and thought again, chanting the same words but in my head, and, all at once, my mind felt clear, focused, and collected, but at a cost. I felt a great exhaustion inside of me that I was hardly able to acknowledge.

My hand went to my saberless hip once more. I could not think without it.

"I need a sword," I said to him, returning to reality. "Any sword—a stick. Anything." Then, I scowled, hating the gun there. "I hate guns, don't you?"

The question was antagonistic. I threw it to him wearily and walked by him. He glanced at me, confused, but I only put my hands up. I was sure instead of at them his eyes leered at the sway of my hips as I sauntered out before him.

"Shoot me in the back, I dare you!" I said, throwing up my arms. I almost willed him to, but no shots were fired. He jogged to catch up with me. I was disappointed. "I didn't think so."

I shuddered as I approached the computer. I turned to him, motioning towards the keyboard.

"You can help me, Mr. Rand. You can."

He immediately went to work. His persona was slowly returning, I could see it in the way his lopsided smile twitched around halfway.

"Must be hard being a Jedi, you know? No family, no kids, no _husband_-,"

"No harder than enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest."

"Hey, I didn't mean to-,"

There was a buzz that silenced both of us and I flipped around to address it. When I saw what it was, I laughed harder than I had in a long time. "T3!"

He beeped at me dolefully.

"I know, I know." I searched the screen. "Just me. They're dead."

T3 made another sound, a sad sound.

"I know. I feel bad about it."

Then, his beeps turned up in a way I recognized.

"I don't remember Wild Space, T3."

A short beep, an urgent question.

"No, according to the cryo, I haven't seen him for a long time."

He beeped again.

"I don't know where he is, T3. I'm still a little confused."

And it was true.

I'd woken up in a Republic cruiser. They'd recovered my ship, the Ebon Hawk, with no one else inside, hailing Ramel from Wild Space. They said they'd revived me out of a month long sleep, according to the log. And what I'd been doing before that was get lost and get shot. I'd thought that I'd crashed landed somewhere where Basic language was a far off mystery, but I'd been lured there by the Ebon Hawk's signature - something I'd always looked out for...just in case _he_ was there.

But he hadn't been. Just his ship. I'd had to fight to get to it. I tried hard to remember. It had been in the middle of the woods, lost, like he'd left it there specifically for me to find. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd been right there, waiting, hoping.

Getting there had only been half the battle. I'd fallen from my wounds once I'd locked myself inside. Locals must have discovered me - me and the ship.

They must have followed the emergency instructions in the kit in my ship marked as such. The locals must have been generous or compliant. Whichever, I felt some semblance of gratitude. I could have succumbed there to wounds.

It would have been a lonely way to die.

My instructions had said to return my body, and the ship, to the next living person in my detail from the war. Apparently, that had been Ramel. The rest must have died.

The aching I felt with that taunted me, and I put a hand to my heart, feeling my knees buckle.

T3 beeped worriedly.

"No, no, I'm fine," I lied quickly. "Just...a little tired, I guess."

He beeped again sadly.

"Of course you were expecting _him."_ I rolled my eyes. "We all were…"


	5. Chapter 5

Something about Atton's provocation made me feel like sobbing. His comments on my looks had gotten old quickly, and what was worse, I think that he knew it too. His behavior was off-putting, but not in that it was inherently inappropriate. I'd long since learned that many lude comments had to be ignored to be overcome. No, instead it was Atton's…constancy. He talked and talked and talked. So much noise, so many things to ponder.

The sounds of the voices in my head had not quieted, and the addition of Atton's voice was nearly too much for me to be able to handle.

Perhaps, in the Dark Times, I'd become so socially inept that I would never be the same, never be able to look a person in the eyes and smile, never be able to carry on a conversation without feeling an itch to flee or to arm myself.

_What is _wrong_ with you_? I asked through my distress.

"Hey, princess," Atton said.

I glanced around. He was talking to me. I was the only one there.

"Don't, uh…" He cleared his throat. "Don't worry. We'll get out of here. I've gotten out of trouble countless times."

"Is that so?" I asked impatiently, crossing my arms across my chest. "So tell me then, oh great master, how are we getting out of this mess?"

Amusement passed through his eyes before he let out a sarcastic huff.

"Master…huh…never been called _that_ before." I said nothing, and he became uncomfortable again. "Makes me itch," he decided, shaking his head.

"Whatever," I said. "Just tell me the plan."

"This isn't a military installation, which means we might just have a chance." He eyed the computer distractedly, searching the meaningless wall of holographic numbers and charts with what was clearly expertise. "I think…I can reroute the emergency systems so we can get to the hangars."

"We can grab a ship and fly out of here!" I said, standing taller.

I felt so much hope suddenly, so much hope of being away. Anywhere but where we were. Anywhere open. Some place…not like this.

It dawned on me that the entire facility was a series of cages designed to be self-contained and totally efficient. The place was just hallways, metal, automatic whirring lights that barely counted for anything. There was no side to side in Peragus. There was forward or back. No open space. No place to run. No place to hide.

Just hallways and elevators.

He began to explain to me the details, something about recalling the communication systems via the drift charts or something. I struggled to keep up. Far too complicated for me. If it was me, I'd send out a distress signal, wait, and then when they came – whoever they were – sneak onto the ship just as good as anybody else. The next stop would be reserved for me, and I'd be home free. All of this making public of our situation made me feel…distressed.

I noticed, with this thought, that Atton had a whole lot of "we's" and "ours" and "us's." Not very many "you's" and "I's."

The thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Everything I'd learned up to that point had taught me not to agree to this. I was to refuse this man's help, abandon the old woman and the Force she'd shove onto me, and find my own way off – with T3 and the Hawk if possible.

If not, I was still me. I could manage. I always did.

"Maybe we should just split up," I began to suggest.

He just shook his head, oblivious to my shift in mood.

"I think that's probably a bad idea," he said. "Nowhere to go but forward. Not exactly a lot of wiggle room in these kinds of places, right?"

My heart raced. We'd thought the same thing.

Was that a sign?

My heart ached for this to be so, ached for a reprieve of solitude and running. I was tired of doing all this on my own. Of being on my own. My mind knew it had been important for me to be, but…

The Republic was asking for me – me and my ship. They'd wanted me back. Maybe it had been a mistake to try to undo this progress. Maybe it wasn't so bad to be accepted back into open arms. Again, I wished for the wisdom of somebody smarter than me, somebody older and wiser. I wanted _him_ to tell me what to do.

_Stop that_, I told my mind. _He's not here._

The thought sobered me, and something about it was suddenly liberating. I had to be brave. I had to make the big decisions. No more apathy, no more wandering, no more hiding. Action. I needed to take action, or these people, the old hag and "Atton," would surely perish.

And so, I tried to focus on what he was saying when he abruptly exclaimed,

"Hey!"

"What is it?" I asked urgently.

"My control only goes as far as the main hub. It's…been locked up somehow. Cut clean."

Something about this jolted my mind into hyperdrive again, and I furrowed my brow as my heart skipped a beat. A place like Peragus wouldn't allow apathy or indecision. It wouldn't allow hiding and fading. It required action, in all its glory.

Another sign that I had to do something.

Because _they_ were here, and I was sure, even if Atton wasn't part of "they" like I'd originally assumed, that he wouldn't be really happy to find Sith Inquisitors show up while we sat around jabbering.

"That's not standard procedure in an emergency lockdown," I said to him to yank myself into the present. "That means someone tried to make sure nobody got on or off this level. Leave us here. Trapped."

He was silent, but he blinked for a moment in shock.

"Why would anybody do that?" he asked.

I didn't answer, despite the shrewd look that had overtaken his beautiful eyes. He eyed me both warily and out of genuine supplication. Neither of us was sure what to do or how to go. We just knew that something awful had happened, and we were somehow caught in the middle of it.

"Maybe…" I tried, clearing my throat.

I tried to stifle the bile that rose in my throat at the thought of being left on this terrible, cold planet to die with only two strangers as company. Another lonely way to die. And others were coming. I was sure of it. So sure, that I was sure whatever had happened on the facility was likely my fault. So sure, that I was determined to get off of it and to find answers, however and wherever I could.

"Can't we try to contact the miners?" I suggested, feeling a sinking feeling.

"You said the facility was abandoned," he dismissed a little waspishly. "Besides, if the miners were trying to trap you up here and probably kill you, why not call them and chat?"

"How do you know they were after me?" I deflected nervously.

He snorted angrily.

"Yeah right," he said, crossing his arms across his open chest. "I'm sure the entire facility was shut down for one accidental case of weapon's smuggling."

I didn't move. He was talking about himself.

"Trust me, beautiful, I'm nobody important."

"You're putting an awful lot of faith in me considering you don't know me," I snapped.

"You're a Jedi," he replied coolly. "What's your name, anyway?"

I blinked slowly. I felt some degree of humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm Nune. Nune Ki'ili."

"That's not a Basic name," he probed cautiously.

"No, it isn't," I said back to him nervously. "It's…I'm from a…remote system. You probably wouldn't know it."

"Outer Rim?"

I nodded.

"What language?"

"Deralian," I replied quickly. "That's…the accent. I don't know if you hear it."

I tugged at the undershirt nervously, and he seemed for the first time to become aware of this.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I can hardly tell."

I laughed sarcastically.

"Liar!" I said, but good-naturedly. "Let's just figure out how to get off this station before anything else decides to get to us, alright?"

I hid the fact that speaking with him made my heart race. I hid the fact that I was not calm, hid the fact that the conversation itself had been an obstacle to overcome. I obscured the fact that I felt weak with fear, not just of him but of what I knew to be coming, and I masked the tiredness with a grit and determination I hadn't known I'd had.

I had to hide, but that was okay. It was still hiding. Not side to side hiding, not like before, not like the Dark Times. This was forward and back hiding, hiding in a way that was different. But still hiding.

And if hiding was what I had to do in order to get off the station – to get all of us off this station – then that was certainly what I was going to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trying to get off of Peragus, sorry. I ended up writing only parts in scenes I really thought needed work, so the in between stuff is mostly fluff. Therefore, I'm writing it right now in order to get to the parts I consider to be more fun.**

By the time we'd reached the Republic vessel the Harbinger, I was very angry. Something about my increasingly small part in a much larger conflict tugged at my resolve to hold in my short temper, and the list of reasons why just got longer and longer.

The droid beeped almost constantly, and Nune replied to it as if it were speaking a language just as easy as Basic. She talked to _it _more than she had talked to me, and some of the things she said seemed as if she was familiar with it. A droid! As if it had feelings, the fracking piece of scrap. I was the one who'd helped her through the entire underbelly of the station. She'd have burned alive or been incinerated by droids by then without me.

Even though this probably wasn't true. I was seeing, more and more, that this young, strikingly beautiful woman was not at all how she appeared.

But that only made me angrier because I didn't understand. The old woman hardly spared me a glance, but when she did something dark, defensive, and dangerous ignited in me. Something terrible that I strived to hide. Her skin was white and her eyes, black. She was obviously not human. Or maybe she had been. Once. It was amazing how long people could live without technology these days, and I was certain that only several lifetimes of cruelty or fatigue could produce the disdain she had in both her body language and voice in respect to me.

But, even still, we followed her, Nune, and she led us. She was quiet in the way she walked, nothing like before, almost as if she was afraid with that hag around. She constantly checked over her shoulders to spare us a glance, and when she did, she'd jump like a lost tuka'ta pup, like she'd just noticed we were there behind her. Like such a blundering idiot, like a bimbo. Like a slut just realizing she was in over her head behind a closed door.

She looked so lost when I found her eyes. So very afraid and stranded, and at first I'd taken it to be naiveté. Now, I wasn't sure what it was, but it rendered me motionless.

The look in her eyes lit up a fire inside of me, and it made me want to ask her a thousand questions I knew I shouldn't.

Her eyes spoke a thousand words that I didn't understand. Expressive. Vibrant. Terrific. They were a darkish brown, but not too dark, and they reflected the light to create a multitude of colors I hadn't known existed before I'd seen them. And it was as if she were behind a two-way piece of glass, struggling to get out, screaming on the other side. The look in her eyes made me want to wrap my limps around her until she stopped looking at me like that.

And that scared me.

Her skin was darkish too, a brown shade that was rare in the Core Worlds. It looked smooth and my fingers curled constantly into the weapon I held to help my weak muscles shake a chill that had settled for wreaking havoc every time she stumbled too close.

And her hair…It was fantastic. It curled in small ringlets all the way down her head, and, despite having the coarse, unique, and strangely beautiful bouncing weight that dark, thick black hair could afford, the curls looked smooth enough to spring if pulled. The hair moved almost as if it was a solid mass, but it swayed, tracing and bouncing just inches above her shoulders.

The rest of her was just as invigorating. Her mouth was thin, but not too thin, and the shape of them was defined. Her jaw was strong, and her cheekbones high on her face – almost gaunt, but not quite. Her eyebrows were low to her eyes, and they afforded her an expression of constant awareness. She looked clever because of the expression of her eyes, tactical, thoughtful.

Beautiful.

Her neck was long. Her collarbone was defined. Her shoulders looked a little bony, or they had when she was without clothes, and the curves that came out of her had instantly caused my blood to surge downward. I'd had to actively speak in order to resist ogling her – not that I'd succeeded.

And then, after seeing all that, observing all that – all in just a moment – she had the audacity to be a Jedi.

There was anger and rage and hatred. I felt disgust with myself for being a man, for feeling the urges I'd felt after I'd learned of her nature. I felt so much disdain at the thought of traveling with a Jedi.

And yet…as she spoke, as she opened up just a peek of what was inside of her, I felt a different shade of anger. It was clear that the Jedi had done her a clear injustice. She said she didn't feel the Force anymore, and that pinched me inside. I felt sick, so sick that I wanted to crawl back to Nar Shadaa to forget it. The look in her eyes when she'd screamed at me made me want to die. The fear. The clear want to submit, the obvious desire to succumb.

But she hadn't succumbed. She'd returned her control to her. It was a thing rarely done. Jedi, for all their talk, often didn't have willpower longer than others did. They just knew how to turn it on and off a lot better than other people.

Why I wanted her justice done was beyond me, and I tried to attribute it to the fact that we had to work together or none of us were going to survive.

We walked silently through the ghost ship, the Republic ship, but when we stepped into it, it was empty. Cold.

"I have a bad feeling about this," I whispered under my breath.

"Me too…" she whispered back, glancing at me sidelong.

We turned a corner, but she stopped, and I nearly ran into her. I felt a lock of her hair. It was as thick and soft as I'd imagined it, and I took a step back in annoyance. It was as if she was taunting me deliberately. I was in a foul mood already without feeling an urge that was simply inconvenient for the sake of my bad attitude's continued existence.

"What? Why are we stopping?" I asked impatiently.

She didn't answer, but her face was pale. Suddenly, she looked cold. I noticed her knees were buckling, and her eyes turned back to us slowly. Again, her eyes lit up, realizing she was not alone, and she opened her mouth several times before whispering,

"This was…my room." She nodded over to a broken door. It was burned on the outside, and the durasteel was forced inwards, as if somebody had tried to pry it open with something hot and molten.

_With a lightsaber_, I thought to myself, hairs raising on the back of my neck.

"This was your room?" I repeated dumbly. "When?"

"Before I…lost consciousness on the Hawk. I thought it might be the same ship, but…" She sighed sadly. "They're all dead. All dead because of me."

"How can you possibly tell it's the same ship?" I asked incredulously. "Republic isn't known for its originality in ship design."

She swallowed before answering.

"The ceiling," she whispered, pointing to a mark I hadn't noticed. It just looked like a burn. "There was a…slight 'mix up' with the door, they said." She pursed her lips, clearly holding back distress. "They'd locked me in, and I shot the locking mechanism until it broke."

I hadn't noticed it.

Maybe I was right about her eyes after all. She was so with it that it put me to shame.

And I would have been lying if I'd said part of me didn't ache to see even a glimpse of her life before. For some reason, I was terrified to ask – maybe because I knew that she could never, ever ask about mine.

Mutely, she walked over to the door and knelt down near the burn. Her eyes turned back up to me as I approached her from behind, and she searched my face for answers with such disarming clarity that I looked away for fear she'd see too deeply and abandon me somewhere.

"I need to see if my stuff is still here," she said back to the woman I'd forgotten was there.

"Whatever you do, do it quickly," the hag named Kreia snapped.

Wordlessly, but with a scowl that wasn't lost to me, she stepped over the threshold. I followed her in, and she glanced back at me. She'd expected me to stay outside, but part of me felt that this was something I needed to see. I had to see it.

She stared at me for a moment longer before walking over to a footlocker across the room. She bent down into it, and I was momentarily distracted by the angle of her ass from here. I found my eyes drawn to the shape of it, and my mouth began to water as I wondered what it might feel like when my hands took it and squeezed.

She stood up abruptly and turned to me. I looked away just in time, and something about the look on her face made me feel strangely guilty, strangely empty.

In her hands, there was a holodisc, a dirtied piece of cloth with a green symbol on it, and a rock about the size of her small palm. She really was very small and short, so as she came over to me with it, she had to look up into my eyes, as if daring me to question the contents.

But this was something that couldn't go unchecked.

"What the _hell_ is that stuff?" I asked irritably. "Did we get lost in this ship just to find some junk they forgot to clean out of your cell?"

Hurt flashed in her eyes as her palms clutched the cloth and rock tighter to her chest. In her other hand, she walked over to the bed and placed the holodisc in the player.

A man I'd never seen appeared, but he was clearly in the Republic Medical Military. The uniform was a clear giveaway.

"I'm amazed she's lasted this long," the voice was saying. "She hasn't spoken yet, not to us, not coherently, but Sandres seems to be making some progress with her. She did call him directly after all."

"Who's that?" I asked over the recording.

She narrowed her eyes before answering,

"I don't know."

"We've discovered that she's more aware than she lets on though," the medical officer continued. "Though, she could just be in shock. She doesn't respond to most stimulus, but when we walk in the room she stiffens. She seems to count us when we walk in and out, and her eyes are often drawn to the door. She hasn't moved from her bed yet, but that's likely for the best."

I felt aching inside of me as I saw a picture of her flash up where the man had once been.

"Do you know where you are?" a woman asked a colder, sicker, less alive version of the Nune that stood stiffly next to me.

Nune tried to look at the woman, past the screen, and opened her mouth to speak, but something stranger came out. Something close to a choked sob. I felt a pain in my lower abdomen. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I wanted to be able to force myself to not see, but I had to. I deserved to see.

I knew that sunken, dead look in Nune's eyes. I'd seen it a hundred times.

"It's alright now, it's alright," the woman was saying. "You're safe now. We're with the Republic. Can you tell me your name?"

Nune shook her head, trying hard to breathe and failing.

"Can you tell me who did this to you?" the new woman asked Nune, and a hand reached up and gently took Nune's hand.

Nune reacted violently, yanking away and shrieking.

"NO!" Nune shouted. "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"That's enough!" my Nune said harshly, reaching forward and yanking the holodisc out without terminating the program.

I stood awkwardly beside her, in so much inner turmoil suddenly that I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for her to strike me. I didn't know why Nune had been in the state that she was in. I didn't know why she was in the state she was in now. I didn't understand why Nune was so intriguing, nor did I quite understand why I found her body so fracking irresistible to ogle. I didn't get to ask.

But I wanted to know, and I wanted to ask.

"What was that about?" I asked, my voice softer than it had been in all the time I'd known her – which in reality was only a few hours.

"Doesn't matter," she replied swiftly. "Let's just get off this fracking ship so that we can forget we ever saw it."

But, even so, I saw her slip the disc clandestinely into the pocket on her opposite side, away from me. The anger returned. She was a liar and a cheat. If she wasn't one, she'd have surely never been in that state. Nobody with half a brain was ever shocked to the point of speechlessness. Nune must have been a fool. She must have put herself in a dangerous situation, just like the one we were in now, and she must have walked into a trap or a prison or into Imperial territory or something.

_Yup,_ I decided as she dipped her hips out to go back into the hallway. _Clearly some kind of ditz._


	7. Chapter 7

By the time we'd made it to the Ebon Hawk, "her" ship, I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. My part was small, yes, but Peragus was gone, blown to bits in an explosion I'd wanted not to be a part of. My anger bubbled over, not just at being inadvertently dragged into this but because both she and Kreia hadn't told me anything. Even the droid knew more than I did, and that was unacceptable to me.

Really, what did I know about these two people? I'd found myself invested in their success, in their survival, but now that we were on our way away to the Republic, on our way to _away_ from where we had been, I felt an uncoiling inside of me. Soon, we wouldn't be isolated, and we'd go our separate ways.

If I managed to slip away without being noticed. Somehow, despite how stunning Nune was, I didn't think I'd get that lucky. Now, I was a part of whatever trouble she was in, and that upset me. I'd strived so hard not to get into any more trouble. I'd avoided everything and everyone to make sure of it.

Now, due to circumstances totally beyond my control, I was following an infuriatingly cryptic Jedi master and her little fledgling pawn. I'd come to appreciate that pawn, yes, but they'd yanked me in without asking. They'd manipulated me into helping, and I felt so angry to have been duped.

I didn't know if this logic was skewed, but I was too pent up, too frustrated, too confused to really care. I just needed to yell, to understand, to get it out.

Of course, she was my easiest and most desirable target.

"Well, now that we just killed a planet, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on. Because between assassin droids, a Sith Lord that looks like he sleeps with vibroblades, and being target practice for a Republic warship, I was better off in my cell!"

"I don't know what's going on!" Nune said weakly.

"That's such bullshit!" I shouted at her. "Do you know what you've just managed to do? Peragus was a fuel depot. The Republic will be hurting without it, and you just blew it up without a second thought!"

"_I_ blew it up?" she shouted back, rising to the challenge in a way that made a monster inside of me laugh with pleasure. "We did all of this together! If I did anything, you helped me do it! You can't shove the blame solely on my shoulders!"

"Sure I can!"

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

"Because they were after _you_, weren't they?" I shouted back, inching closer to her all the time. "Not me! Not that old bat! _You_! And I want to know why!"

She backed away now, removing her eyes from mine. She looked overwhelmed and hit the wall with a small "oof" sound.

"I don't know why," she whispered quietly. "I really don't know what's going on."

"You're such a liar!" I yelled back, jumping at her weakness.

But Kreia cut in, even as she opened her mouth with a scowl that would silence even Republic Senators.

"The Republic warship was the Harbinger," she explained. "This, we knew, and we learned from your room there. It was seized on its way to Telos by the Sith. You must have left shortly before their assault."

I made a point not to notice that Nune shook harder at this, and her knees buckled a little bit under the duress.

"Naturally, they sought you, Jedi," Kreia continued emotionlessly.

"That…makes sense," she finally managed to croak out. "The Sith cruiser. It was the Ravager. It shot us down after…I left." Then, her eyes turned away from mine and they scrunched together with accusation. "How did you know that I left?" she asked with that same vicious tone she'd used on me during her tirade.

"I was on the Ebon Hawk for the duration," she explained simply.

Nune just blinked, which made me feel less bad for doing the same.

"How is that even possible?" she asked outright. "I was asleep, I was…dying. You weren't there. You were…"

I stiffened at this and took her in.

"How long ago was that?" I asked her in surprise.

"I don't know. Maybe…" She put two hands to her head, and she looked so small that way, so lost. "A few days ago?" Her voice was high pitched and she sounded like she was about to cry. "I think five or six – five or six days ago?"

"It has been seven days since you crash landed on a planet named Velabri, where I was waiting in the Ebon Hawk."

She didn't remove her hands from her forehead.

"Why were you there?" Suddenly, her voice became more urgent. "Why were you there with that ship? Where was the owner of the ship?"

"The Ebon Hawk's owner had long since abandoned the ship in those woods, and I had a vision to go to it and wait for one such as you. Upon my arrival, I succumbed to a deep meditation in the cargo hold, and I was not discovered until you were shot down over Peragus."

"A…a vision?" she asked weakly. "To wait for me?"

"That is what I said," she said, beginning to be mildly irritated.

"But I almost died there," Nune argued. "Why didn't you help me?"

"As I said, I was deep in meditation. The limitations of the world around me did not seem of any consequence. Besides, you did not die. I used the Force to rescue you from your wounds and to summon the creatures of that world, manipulating their feeble minds to follow the set of morbid instructions you had prepared with your belongings. From there, your old soldier was hailed, we were picked up by the Harbinger, and you escaped it again just before it must have been bombarded in an attempt to kill you."

"Quite a coincidence," I said sarcastically.

"True," the old woman said with that same vicious condescension. "But as one trained in the Force, it is encumbered upon me to tell you that true coincidences are rare."

"How did we get to Peragus?" she asked the old woman wearily. "It was nearly destroyed by the time we made the jump to hyperspace."

The metal can next to us began to explode with noise, and Kreia and I both sighed angrily.

"Shut that scrap heap up, will you?" I yelled at her.

"He said he repaired the ship!" she snapped back. "Learn to understand! His language isn't that hard!"

"Repaired this ship, my eye!" I shouted back angrily. "Next thing you know it's going to claim credit for saving our skins! If that little noisemaker says it repaired the ship once, then it can prove it by doing it again! Go on, get!"

The droid made a sad kind of noise, and I nudged it towards the hallway into the main hold. It zapped me once, and I swore loudly. I made to kick it, but it zoomed away from me and out of the cockpit.

There was a moment of silence before she took a deep, shaking breath.

"So…why are these Sith after me?" she asked, as if she was afraid of the answer she already seemed to know.

"Because you are the last of the Jedi," the old woman explained.

I felt nauseas. I felt dizzy. I felt weak. All of the feelings that I kept buried deep inside of me came out all at once, and I felt like I might vomit. She stood less than a foot from me. We'd advanced on one another in our anger. At the time, it had ignited something inside of me, a pleasure and an anger that came with physical attraction. It was a need, closer to a desire but also a need to dominate.

But the realization, the confirmation, that Nune was a Jedi was too much. I felt like an affront. I felt like I didn't deserve to stand in the same room. I felt, more than anything else, shame and fear. I took a step away from her carefully, so neither of them would notice, and I was consumed by a moment of overpowering emotions.

This woman, this small woman, this beautiful woman, was the last of her kind. Not only did the loss of the Jedi seem so insurmountable, but it also seemed so much more terrible. That had been the goal, sure but to see it achieved was…unthinkable.

When I emerged, Nune seemed to have thought the same thing.

She finally leaned over, hands on her knees.

"What do you mean, the 'last of the Jedi?'" she asked loudly. "There are hundreds of Jedi! They can't all be…they can't all…"

"You are the last of the Jedi," Kreia repeated.

Nune hardened at this.

"I am _not_ a Jedi," she snapped. "Not anymore."

"You were, and that is all that matters."

She opened her mouth angrily.

"Like hell that's all that matters!" she shouted, standing tall. "I was exiled! I was thrown away like a – like a bad dog! The Jedi spat at me!" Sobs escaped now, and she was obviously struggling to reel them in.

Something about them choked me.

"They threw me away! How can I be punished by both sides?"

"Exile or not, the Sith believe you to be a Jedi Knight," Kreia insisted. "And that is all that matters."

It was true. That was all that would matter to them.

Something about this snapped the resolve I had, and the anger I felt about this became instantly directed at her – unfairly, but I didn't care.

"None of that matters right this second!" I asked loudly. "What do both of you know about this ship?" I was determined to be a victim – and an angry one at that. I didn't want to talk about her being a Jedi. I didn't want to talk about Jedi at all.

"It was prominent during the Mandalorian Wars," Nune finally whispered to me, as if to shush me. Then, she turned to Kreia. "_She_ seems to know what's going on. Why don't you stop yelling at me and ask her instead?"

"Because I feel like asking you!" I said with a pointed increase in volume. She winced, and only a small part of me felt bad.

"Fine, then _I'll _ask her," Nune snapped back at me. "Where was the Harbinger headed?"

"To Telos," was Kreia's answer. "It is where we must go…and where the Harbinger was bound before its unfortunate demise from the Ravager."

"So I'm not going to escape that place after all," Nune hissed, rolling her eyes. "Great. Just great."

"Hey, what are you so mad about?" I snapped at her. "A whole lot of people died on their way instead of you. Show a little respect."

So reprimanded, the hurt, just the same as it had when we'd gone into her room, flashed across her eyes. And I felt like punching myself for having caused it.

This feeling, so deflating and intense, took away my words, and I was glad when the two of them began to speak. I was excluded from the conversation, and this didn't make me unhappy. I was able to retract to think, to ponder. For so long, my indignation had been all that mattered. I felt so much self-righteousness that it seemed for me to be wrong.

Then again, I don't think I knew what was right and wrong anymore. I'd spent so many nights sleeplessly tossing in whatever bed I had to know whether or not my actions were dictated by nonsensical urges or logic. I used to live by a code. I used to be able to keep all this in.

My outbursts of anger disturbed me. The fact that I was angry with Nune disturbed me. I hadn't been angry in a very long time. I'd been mildly irritated, maybe, but never angry. Never happy. Never sad. I didn't laugh, didn't smile.

And yet, she'd already made me laugh a few times. She'd caused me to grin from ear to ear, and she sometimes made me feel physically weak or so aroused I wanted for her to leave so that I could handle it without feeling humiliated. I was not above attraction, but this felt like something different. Something scary.

It was if I was attracted to her, not just her perfect body that I ached just to touch. It was as if part of my insides relied on knowing her and being around her. The intensity of this was frightening and disturbing. But I didn't know how to stop it, and I didn't know if I even should. I was good at putting up walls, but maybe, with her, I couldn't.

Maybe it was because she didn't have the Force. Maybe that was what it was. I'd met all kinds, after all. Some with so little Force they came across as dunces and some with so much of it that it was scary just to stand next to them. Those kinds, the ones with lots of Force, they had a way about them. They knew you before you talked to them, and their eyes told you they knew it.

Made me itch.

Or maybe it was her eyes that made me feel strange, her eyes that called out to me from across galaxies with a desperation for help. I found myself empathizing with the look in her eyes, and I didn't like that. I wanted to think nothing of her. In a way, I kind of did, still. If I got a chance to leave, I knew I'd take it. I'd leap at it. Maybe I wasn't so good at knowing what I was about, but I was certainly an extremely talented survivor. I kept away from people like her.

Even if this time I felt like I'd been punched just thinking about leaving her to the fate she was obviously just learning about.

When I came back to that little ship, Kreia had gone, and Nune just stood there. Her knees buckled, and deep bags under her eyes weighed them down, urging them to sleep. Her hands shook at her sides, but beyond that she was still. Her eyes were wide, wide awake, open and terrified in a way that terrified me. She didn't understand. All movement was abandoned in favor of being able to comprehend the vastness of what had been asked of her.

Slowly, in the silence, I fought hard to remember. Kreia had told her that she needed to find the other Jedi. She was the last one, and she was the glue to put them back together.

Her eyes told me all the ways in which this was so totally unfair that it hurt inside.

I wanted to reach out to touch her, to wake her up from that small, dark corner in her mind, but my thoughts rushed back to the way she had reacted before when that woman had touched her. I didn't want such a violent reaction. I think, if I saw it again right then, the droid would have lunged at me, Kreia would have sliced me in half, and Nune would retreat even further into what was obviously senility.

I found myself wondering how long she had been alone, and then, suddenly, how old she was. If I had to guess, she looked younger than thirty. Ridiculous to think that she should be the one spearheading this movement to bring the Jedi back. There were other Jedi, older, wiser, masters. I'd met half of them, seen the other half get away. I was surprised that I didn't know of her.

Maybe I wasn't meant to. There were some Jedi from the wars that had been explicitly ignored due to their contribution to the first one. I wondered who or what she must have done to earn the complacency of the Sith or what had become the new Imperial Army. I was also afraid to know.

I found myself wanting her to be as good as she had been. I found myself aching for her to have survived all this mess. She'd briefly told me she'd fought in the Mandalorian Wars, and she'd pointedly skipped over the Jedi Civil War as if she didn't want to talk about it. I assumed this meant she was not involved, that she was guilty for having run away. I'd learned she was an Exile so far.

But I wanted more. So much more. I wanted to know her so badly that it hurt.

Finally, I couldn't take the look in her eyes anymore. I addressed her, and she jumped violently into reality, tensing for what might have been pain – and I ached. I couldn't be alone with her. Not right then. I needed my bearings, so I pushed her onto the older woman, urging her to speak with her, to check on her. I told Nune that Kreia respected her.

This seemed to shock Nune, and I felt the mean part of myself try to laugh inwardly at her stupidity.

But the larger part of me saw that she was not arrogant or preachy, was not necessarily wise or all-knowing. She was just a woman, maybe even a girl still, and she was just trying to make her life work.

Oddly, but with a world of desperate reluctance, I found myself respecting her a little bit too.


	8. Chapter 8

I felt sick inside. I was actively staving off a building panic, and I was sure that nothing and no one would prevent it from being unleashed. Somehow, I was being reeled into something huge. Galaxy huge. I'd tried so hard to get lost, to never be found. I'd tried so desperately to remain in blissful anonymity for the remainder of my days.

Then, just hours before, I'd met a woman who not only knew me but who knew things about me I hadn't told anybody in years. She frightened me.

And she demanded more.

I didn't know how to lead people anymore. It had been ten years since I'd been in the Republic. I was a child then, rash and bold. I felt so old now, out of the game. I forgot what it felt like to hold a lightsaber or lead a group of men into battle. I forgot what it felt like to channel the Force in simple ways, let alone in ways that involved combat. I would likely collapse from fatigue. I would be sloppy.

I must have been sloppy. I was always sloppy. So sloppy.

Because everything was going horribly wrong, just like it always did.

All of this had happened just because I'd been caught in a lightning storm trying to find _him_. And it had driven me to find his ship. Everything had spiraled after that. This was _his_ way. Things quickly became bigger than they seemed.

And my sloppy footwork would be my undoing, as it had in so many different occasions.

This time, it seemed too big, but I was too tired to continue to reject this. Nobody was listening to me. Kreia just simply insisted that I wasn't listening to _her_, and Atton was too busy being Atton, I was sure, to pay any attention to me. Not that he would in any way but one.

He couldn't take his eyes off of me.

Even so, I felt companionship with him. A small part of me felt comfort to know that a normal person like him could see me and not be repulsed. It gave me hope for the future. I'd done so many terrible things. The life I'd once lived weighed on me constantly every day. The thought that he didn't need to know this was satisfying. What was more, the thought that he didn't know this and still laughed at a joke I made or…tried to cheer me up…

That made all the difference in the galaxy.

Some small part of me was still alive inside. I thought I was completely dead, but he was proving me wrong. He was stirring my living-self up from a dark cave. Before Atton, before Peragus, before all this, companionship had been agonizing. For ten long years, even the mere prospect of trying to look into somebody's eyes and talk to them rendered me motionless with sadness.

It was overwhelming.

A maw inside of me had never been quite filled after I'd come back, after Malachor V. Nobody ever bothered to ask me if I was okay. If it had been hard. If this was something I wanted – no, _needed_ – to talk about.

I could see him asking me this. He wanted me to believe that he was some scummy smuggler who didn't have any respect or care in the world. But, for all my isolation, I was still remarkably good at reading people.

Maybe that was the shreds of Force trickling back into me.

It was back in full swing now.

It hurt now like I remembered it hurting after the battle.

Tears had come to my eyes, and I wiped them furiously – and with haste to make sure he didn't see. I watched him attentively, and it appeared he hadn't.

I found myself less ashamed though. I wasn't wanting for anything to him.

Maybe it was my body.

But then again, maybe I didn't care. To be accepted so freely was something that hadn't happened to me in ten years.

It was a greater gift than any had given me since my life before. And his gift stretched longer than that. He was abrasive, at times, and rough around the edges. But he was different in more than just obvious ways. His eyes spoke volumes, and the emotions that flitted through them told stories.

He carried sadness and pain. So much pain. Rage. Guilt.

He was dangerous. Would have been a dangerous Jedi.

And yet, I wasn't sure if this was an accurate assumption. In a way, his emotions seemed just as volatile as many others I'd come to know. Emotions were frowned upon, but to those in my inner circle, we'd always been bad at following that rule. Instead, we just learned to keep a lock on them.

Atton certainly had _that_ down to a science.

Despite this, he demanded nothing from me, excepting for a few answers that I was distraught to tell him that I did not have. He only seemed to want baby steps. Small, little steps towards a brighter light. He didn't reach into the sludge of my memories and drag me out with bleeding fingers as I clawed for him to retreat. He instead waited, still and patient, just above the murky depths, hand extended. He was drawing me out. He didn't demand I make an entrance.

Nothing like _Kreia_.

Feeling as such, I felt compelled to stay by his side instead of staying by hers, so I was relieved when she'd shooed me away so that she could tend to her wounds.

I realized I'd been standing stock still, lost in thought, and I felt my legs moving forward to draw closer to Atton.

At my approach, Atton didn't stand.

I was struck by an intense sensation of having been here before, and I felt the now very familiar, desensitizing pain shoot through me. I'd been here only a day before, maybe only hours, and the pilot then had been my friend. An old friend, from the war. Young, smart, with a family, he'd said.

And he'd been alive.

Atton, not seeing me and knowing nothing of my trailing thoughts, just turned slightly in his swiveling chair and glanced over his shoulder. He seemed to laugh in relief that it was me approaching and not her, but he still didn't get up from his seat. Something about this calmed my racing heart. I was nobody to be admired or put up on a pedestal. He treated me like an equal.

This was glorious and surprising. It was different to be treated like everybody else. In my experience, people usually treated me much worse or much better. Admittedly, I'd withheld some things from him. I hadn't been able to tell him I'd been in the Jedi Civil Wars. I'd mentioned the Mandalorian Wars, of course, but everybody knew that.

My involvement in the Jedi Civil Wars was a total secret, and anybody who knew about it lied in a pile of waste on far off planets, having rotted through stomachs of animals as corpses, long dead before their consumption.

I'd left no survivors.

_No_, I reprimanded myself. _Not this. You're in a ship full of people who deserve your attention._

Feeling guilty, I cleared my throat and peered over at Atton from across the room. He poked at the dashboard of the ship cautiously, as if he was testing the waters or trying very hard just to waste time to keep his mind on something.

Boy, I knew what that was like.

I felt tired, so tired, but I was suddenly a little nervous to fall in too closely. Proximity was still new to me, and he and I had broken it more than once in the last day out of necessity. When it was necessary, that was fine. It was an evil that could be swallowed. Recreationally, it felt very strange and unpleasant. I did not know how to speak to people, not like him. He was a fast talker, slick and smooth. He'd obviously had a lot of experience dealing with all types.

I'd made it my business not to have any experience with people in the last ten years, and I tugged at the sleeves on my shirt, sure that this ineptitude would show. I opened my mouth to say something a few times, but nothing came out. I was grateful that he was so focused on doing…whatever it was that he was doing.

That way, I didn't need to worry that he'd lash out at me. Instead, I stood erectly behind Atton's chair. This way, I was out of arm's reach so he couldn't hit me when I let my guard down.

I snorted at myself. How paranoid had I become?

"How's our passenger?" he asked me. "Is she still _aging_?"

I was relieved he spoke first.

"Cryptic as always," I forced myself to say, trying hard to reel in my thoughts.

It was becoming harder and harder. It was the Force's doing, I thought. It allowed me to think faster and pack more into mere moments what many could not do in minutes.

It hurt still.

"What a surprise," Atton said, glancing back at me again.

He seemed unnerved that I stood this way, like I was an officer overseeing an inspection.

I found myself absently staring at his hands. Atton wasn't really doing anything. In fact, he seemed to be pressing buttons to mimic what the ship was doing. We all knew the ship was in lockdown. I'd even tried to unlock it, but the voice imprint had changed between my passing out and waking on Peragus. The voice imprint seemed to be a Republic signature that was vaguely familiar to me. I knew I should know it, but my memory was terrible. So, we took the Hawk, obviously not at the behest of whoever had locked it, and we were on our way. Whoever hadn't wanted us to move – or _me_ to move – obviously hadn't anticipated that T3 would be on the case.

But, in any case, the ship was locked into its destination. Telos. They'd likely catch up to us there, but that was another problem for another time.

So, trying hard to remain in the present, I focused with difficulty on his deft fingers. He could do nothing to stop it or change its course.

But still, he seemed intent on following the pattern the buttons made.

Very odd.

"Just so you know," he was saying, "the whole 'cryptic routine' isn't mysterious. It's just irritating. If you really can see the future, you should be at the pazaak table."

All at once, the peace he brought was put on the rocks. I found my upper lip twitching with a growing irritation. He had such a disdain for my old kind that it kept me on edge and, to be honest, a little bit angry. He obviously wasn't a Jedi. He had no place to make judgments.

Maybe _that_ was why I wanted to stay out of arm's reach.

Or maybe his disdain was just a good excuse to try to piss him off right back.

Well…I _was_ out of arm's reach.

An unfamiliarly pleasing smirk reached my lips at the thought of provoking him.

"In order to know the future," I said dryly, "you have to know yourself."

He scoffed loudly.

"What was that?" he snapped, sounding more irritated than ever. "Some kind of joke? That's what I'm talking about. 'Jedi Talk.' You two should start your own little Jedi Academy."

For some reason, this hurt a little bit, but I buried it deep, determined to stay alert.

"In order to teach, one must be willing to learn," I said.

Oh, the platitudes.

I couldn't hide a laugh as Atton glanced back at me. His face, full of anger, quickly turned to one of delight when he saw that I was joking.

"Alright!" he said, holding up his hands. "I get…"

"And to learn, one must be willing to -,"

He laughed now.

"I get it!" he said, shaking his head. "I get it! The last Jedi in the galaxy. I get the comedian who runs around in her underwear. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

I colored at this, stiffening.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I replied wryly, squeezing the back of the chair nervously. "I'm gorgeous. What can I say?"

His fingers hesitated for a moment, and I saw him flex his fingers before tightening them into fists, as if the mere suggestion sent chills through his body. His voice took on a low, husky quality.

"Damn straight, you are," he mumbled back.

"You could lay off the jokes though," I said cautiously. "You have to admit that I'm a _little_ more entertaining than just a pair of tits."

Again, he paused.

"You never know," he said back hoarsely. "I have a feeling yours would be _very _rewarding."

I colored now and opened my mouth, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly, I felt very hot all over, and I could feel the blood rush to my face. More bizarrely, and in a way that almost entirely unpleasant, tears came to my eyes.

"Don't say that," I said quietly.

His hands didn't stop this time. In fact, they seemed to fly even faster through the colors on the console, as if he was trying to drown in them to block me out.

But his voice reflected none of this.

"Look, princess, relax," he said, laughing so casually that I felt like an idiot. "I find you _extremely _attractive. All I meant was that compared to the Jedi Queen of the Galaxy back there, I'd rather be stuck in an escape pod for a year with you than her."

And, even though the way he said it wasn't completely platonic, this was okay because Atton meant nothing by it. I relaxed a little bit, and it gave leave for some of his words to resonate with me.

I took a chance. I confided in him.

"I don't think Kreia is a Jedi," I said back to him seriously.

The implications of what I said ignited a fear in me unlike any I'd felt in many years, but he seemed entirely too consumed by his need to press buttons to notice.


	9. Chapter 9

In fact, it seemed he would have none of this Jedi business. I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was trying to get me to relax.

"Then she must be royalty," he said, glancing up at me again, "because she's got to be the Queen of the Galaxy to bark out orders like that. Or maybe she's senile."

I let out a laugh now, and he was driven on by it.

"I mean, how _old_ do you think she is? She may have been good-looking once, but it takes some hard living to make creases like that."

"Good looking?" I asked loudly.

I couldn't help it. I laughed hard, and I found myself sitting beside him.

"Good _looking_? Are you _that_ desperate? If she looks good to you, you must have taken a blaster hit when I wasn't looking."

"Hey!" he said, stopping to look up at me for just a moment before returning to the console. "I just got out of _prison_. If we had a decent navicomputer, trust me, we'd be dropping out of hyperspace into the Nar Shadaa Red Sector _right now_. After spacing that old witch, of course."

Nar Shadaa. The Dark Planet.

Something about its mention caused a hundred things to rush back to me, and I felt a little dizzy. This conversation was not a different life. This new plan, new destiny, it was not a different path. I'd still experienced everything I'd experienced. I still hurt the same. I still carried the same hurts and pains. I'd still done the things I had done, and I still had to hurt for it. This was the choice I had made all that time ago.

I was placing far too much stock in these two strangers than I was comfortable with. They were not my redemption. They made me feel…better. They made the pain less bearable.

But the pain was there.

And Atton wanted to go to the Red Sector. The wickedest, blackest part on the Dark Planet.

The memories that he'd stirred up just at its mention soured my mood.

"That's your thing, huh?" I asked him wearily, crossing my arms.

"What?" he asked, almost like I'd just punched him in the face.

"The Red Sector," I said immediately. "That's your thing?"

He glanced at me twice between long pauses before answering again, and he reinvigorated his finger's search for the disappearing buttons of light.

"I'm shocked, really I am, that you, a Jedi, are surprised that I, a hot blooded and _ridiculously_ good looking man, enjoy watching women of exotic locales dance half naked in a seedy bar."

He wanted to offend me.

I sneered out the window, feeling bitter. I wished that I was offended, but I wasn't. I wished I hadn't seen that part of the galaxy, but I had.

All too well.

"Are you trying to _offend _me, Mr. Rand?" I asked him, leaning into him a little bit.

My voice had taken on an amused, almost seductive quality.

Finally, his hands stopped moving and he turned to face me. I heard him swallow.

"Maybe," he said. "Do you offend easily?"

"Thankfully, no," I said, leaning back again with a sigh.

I was lying through my teeth. I was the most sensitive person I knew.

Not that I knew too many people anymore. Well. That were still alive.

"Good," he said, hesitating only a brief second before going back to the console. "Because if you stick with me, the Red Sector is exactly where we're going next, Jedi."

So he had picked up on it. I wasn't a Jedi, and he knew it. He'd seen me react, and he was toying with me.

The bastard.

I suddenly felt very angry, but I tried not to rise to his bait.

"I'm sure there are a few things you could learn there," he continued, prodding me. "The women there aren't bright, not by a _long_ shot, but I'm sure they know a lot of things that a beautiful and innocent little princess like you couldn't even dream about."

New anger came.

I'd _met _those girls. I'd slept in their homes and lived with them. It was a rule to look dumb, to play stupid. Cry, whimper, flash your skin and hope it ends quickly. A friend I'd met there told me that once.

Hope it ends quickly.

Atton knew nothing about any of them. And, worse, he knew nothing about me.

It would have been less painful if he'd used a burning piece of metal. No, he wasn't taunting me.

He was _mocking_ me.

I squeezed my fists with rage, and for the first time in a few long years, I was relieved that I no longer had the Force. With it as my ally, I was sure I would have let it consume me and that I would make quick business of tearing his flesh – and his favorite appendage – from his bones.

"In fact," he continued (with a voice that I could clearly identify as a mocking drawl now,) "I've heard there's a bounty out in Hutt territory for Jedi like you. Sexy, beautiful. I bet you'd look _amazing _in one of those outfits dancing against a pole."

I began to shake, and he knew it.

"Not that you'd fit in, of course," he said. "I can't imagine you know anything about…that kind of thing." He sneered at the motions of his hands. "Please, I implore you, do come find me when you decide you need lessons. I'm sure just one session would me would be _very _informative."

"ENOUGH!" I shouted, standing next to him.

He glanced up at me just before my palm flew across his face.

And he reacted. Badly.

Almost as if it was an instinct, he twisted my wrist and yanked me downwards before swinging me around and pressing me hard against the far wall with his torso. I didn't struggle because I already knew that it was fruitless. I was trapped, and he was bigger and stronger.

Fear.

That was what this was. Memories flew in. All sorts of memories. Overwhelming panic threatened to descend, and the hopelessness of the voices I'd seemed to be able to ignore for the past day flew back in.

Fear.

I couldn't breathe. The things that had happened all came rushing back. Being pressed up like that. Being leered at like that. Seeing a reaction like that.

Fear.

You don't beg. Rule one. You don't beg, and you make them watch. You look in their eyes.

That was the hardest. You see them inside, writhing around, withered and helpless as rot and darkness swirled around them.

You look in their eyes.

And hope it ended quickly.

Then, I remembered where I was. What I'd been through.

I'd already done this once. What had I said to myself?

Never again.

"LET GO OF ME!" I shouted, leaning forward.

Again, like he'd been slapped, he did so. I flew by him and into the freedom and mercy of the cockpit. Free space. Space away from him. I turned back in a panic, but memories rushed in. All kinds of memories.

I struggled to breathe.

I was a fool.

And the voices rose to a volume I could no longer bear, and I put my hands over my ears.

"STOP IT!" I shouted, pressing my palms to my forehead. "SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I heard a voice. Calm. Gentle. A voice unlike any I'd ever heard. If the voice had a body, it would have a hand, palm upwards, offering it to me.

Lies!

I scrunched my eyes tight quickly. I became aware how hard I was shaking and how much my skin burned with shame.

Again, the voice. Softer this time. Coaxing and warm. So totally not evil that tears finally broke the dam of my eyes.

"Go away!" I said to the voice, finally collapsing to my place on the ground.

The voice still came, and I found myself curling into a ball, knees to my chest.

The memories wouldn't stop. It was as if they were alive.

This was why I couldn't do this anymore. It hurt too much. I couldn't do it.

The voice was there. It sounded pained now, but it remained in the background. A weak part of me relaxed just a bit to check, and it jumped at this, making soft encouraging noises.

A hand went around my fingers over one ear, and it squeezed.

Something clicked. I was not there. The voices were not here. Atton was. His voice was the calm, gentle thing that had reeled me in from the darkness.

I opened my eyes. My face was buried in my knees. Then, I made a small sound and I buried my face deeper.

Where had that reaction come from? I felt so embarrassed that it hurt.

"Hey, look at me," he was saying.

Obediently, I complied, and I felt myself leaning away.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, all trace of mockery gone. "I'm sorry. Can you hear me? Can you see me? I'm sorry!"

I struggled, but I looked at him. And he nodded nervously, looking very out of place.

"I didn't mean to," he said to me, releasing my hand.

I swallowed. I had to hide this. Never show this to him again.

"I know," I said, my voice hard.

I stood shakily, brushing myself off.

"It was an instinct," he said again, head hung low.

"I know," I said again, straightening my clothes.

He didn't know what to say now, but I could see things churning in his head.

"I didn't know that you'd react like that," he said in what seemed to be an unusual display of seriousness. "If I had known, I never would have prodded you like that."

I turned away, feeling red. We could both sense my embarrassment.

"No, I should have…" I swallowed again. It was hard. "I shouldn't have reacted. I'm the one who should be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

His face twisted into itself and he looked away.

"Don't say that," he said darkly.

Silence hung in the air, and it was sticky and malignant.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked me desperately.

I cleared my throat, trying to look more confident than I was.

"I am who I've always said," I said back to him. "This kind of thing will not happen again. I'm sorry it was this way."

Unable to take it anymore, unable to look at him, unable to bear the shame of feeling prostrate before him, I retreated from the cockpit, feeling tears burn my eyes. I instinctively flew to the captain's room, the only door with a reliable lock, and I punched it in.

As soon as it was done, sobs rose out of me in waves of pain, and – even worse – I no longer possessed the clarity and peace of mind, outside of the Force, to understand why.


	10. Chapter 10

I made a point not to see Atton or Kreia for an entire day. After this, I felt calm again – or rather, calm for me – and I ventured out from that room to forage for something to eat. I hoped that we would reach Telos soon, and it was anyone's guess when we would be able to eat again after that happened.

With me, it was hard to tell which days were going to be good and which were going to be bad.

Atton emerged from the cockpit at the sound of my pattering footsteps against the cool metal, almost as if he'd been waiting for me.

I stiffened as he took me in, and, just like before, his eyes couldn't _quite_ reach my eyes in time for me not to feel flushed.

He sighed then, looking away, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, uh…" He let out a heavy sigh. "About before…"

"We don't have to talk about it," I said, brushing it aside.

Actually, I didn't want to. At all.

He hesitated now. He'd been expecting something different, but not this.

"If I hurt you, I'm sorry," he said.

His eyes found the wrist he'd twisted. Absently, my second hand had been rubbing it, and I dropped them both to my side.

"It's nothing at all, Atton, really."

I smiled good naturedly at him.

"I know it was just an accident," I said. "We all have instincts. Some are hard to break." I let out the tension from my chest by laughing. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He looked dumbfounded.

"I absolutely deserved it!" he said loudly, taking a few steps into the room.

"Still shouldn't have hit you," I said, shaking my head and turning to the small little kitchenette off to the side of the hallway. I leaned over into the cabinet and found a bag of milk, which I tore open and sucked on greedily.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably, clearly out of place.

I knew what that was like too.

I glanced over my shoulder and all at once stopped thinking of how good the milk tasted on my dry lips. His head searched the floor for answers, and I saw that guilt had kept him awake. He looked as disheveled as he had been when I'd first found him.

I felt bad. I knew that look, standing there in the silence, incapable of understanding what was being said around you for fear it wasn't real.

"Hey, Atton, come on," I said, walking over to him. "Don't worry about it, alright? Things happen. I have…violent…reactions too. As you noticed."

We met eyes and laughed together, both sheepish but for different reasons, I was sure.

"I shouldn't have prodded you like that though," he said. "I was an ass."

I smiled over my milk, which hung suspended just below my lips.

"True," I said, before resuming guzzling for a moment. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't have held back." I shook my head at myself. "For being not a Jedi, I'm certainly a bad Jedi."

He laughed appreciatively, and I could tell this kind of humor would draw him out of his slump.

"Besides," I said, "I can't imagine being dragged into all of this has put me in your good books." My smile faded a little now. "I actually am really sorry about that."

He shrugged.

"Not your fault," was all he said, turning away to rifle through the cabinets. "What is all this junk?"

"Rations," I said plainly. "Not much left. Want some milk?"

He nodded and I handed it to him to finish.

"How do you know where everything is?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I've told you," I said. "Been on this ship before."

"This is the ship you crashed in, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "In all her glory."

"And you went fighting all the way into the jungle to find this scrap heap?"

"Hey!" I said, laughing. "It's not so bad. Kept together this far. She won't fail us yet. Besides, she's fast, and she has a particularly useful feature underneath the hood. Something a smuggler might like, but I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in that."

He stood tall now.

"Really?" he asked, flipping around.

His face assumed the features of a little boy who'd just gotten his first speeder as a surprise.

"That's amazing! Would you show it to me?"

"Sure," I said, raising my hand to beckon to him.

He followed, and I retreated further into the ship to the cargo hold. I noticed he kept a good distance away from me out of respect, and I was glad for it.

"Look," I said, pointing. "There's a false bottom over there."

He went past me delicately and found the place I indicated before lifting the hatch. He smiled victoriously.

"Wow, that's a big hold!" he said, hopping down into it.

I nodded, smiling lightly.

He leaned down into it, and his eyes looked a little sad now.

"What did you carry here?"

"All kinds of things," I said. "Mostly…" I cleared my throat. "Medical supplies or food. During the war. There were often quarantines or embargoes on restricted sectors. Apparently didn't stop this sucker." I patted the wall gently as I heard him come back up.

"What about recently?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"People," I said.

There was a silence.

"People?" he asked. "Or you?"

I would not be saddened, not that day. I'd had my fill of crying.

"Why can't they be the same?" I asked, shrugging and making my way back to the main hold. "I'm part of people."

"Not to some, you wouldn't be," he said back.

I laughed.

"That's true," I said. "Thus, the smuggling bay."

Another silence.

"You're very strange for a Jedi," he said finally.

"Look, I'm _not_ a Jedi," I said gently. "Okay? So you can lay off with the 'innocent Jedi routine.'" I laughed before taking a seat on the counter to converse with him. "Doesn't help anyone much."

"So…what does that mean?" he asked cautiously.

"What does what mean?" I asked, furrowing my brow a little.

"You being innocent."

"Oh," I said, blushing a little. "Well, I've been to your beloved Red Sector, if that's any indication."

He looked like he'd been slapped. I shouldn't have been amused, but I was.

"You've been to the Red Sector?" he found himself asking.

I couldn't hide a sound of disgust, despite my mirth.

"I've been all over that stinking planet," I said back. "All over this galaxy, in the Republic…out of the Republic."

I sighed, leaning my head back onto the cool metal cupboard behind me. I closed my eyes and rolled my head there, just resting, just feeling so…calm with it.

"What do you mean 'out of the Republic?'" he asked tentatively.

"What do you think it means?" I asked.

He was silent.

_Leave me alone_, my mind snapped viciously. _Get away from me and leave me alone! No more questions!_

But I kept this panic at bay.

He was silent with the implications of this statement, but he didn't question it again.

We both knew it meant with the Sith. Near Empire territory.

"Alright," he said, "I'm impressed. Now, I can officially say that I've found a Jedi that isn't absolutely terrible."

This wounded me, and I sat straighter.

"Seriously, what do you have against Jedi?" I asked edgily now. "I don't get it."

He shook his head.

"Don't need to, oh holy traveler of paths not walked," he said back, all guilt gone. "You and that preacher back there really _should_ make a Jedi Academy. If she can even last as long as Telos."

I sighed, feeling the bitterness again before closing my eyes.

"Look, ease off the insults, okay?" I rubbed my temples tiredly. "She _was_ wounded helping us escape, remember?"

He paused again before making a sour kind of noise. I could tell he wasn't enjoying the new direction of this conversation.

"Whoa, all right, all right! Don't get mad at me!" I said nothing. "I didn't _ask_ her to stay behind and get her hand cut off, okay?"

We sat in silence for a long time.

And my thoughts ached for being grounded like we had been just a few minutes ago, laughing and smiling. I pined for it. I needed it.

"Can I ask you some questions?" I asked tentatively.

A vicious scowl lit on his face now, and I recoiled.

"Oh, no, no, no," he snapped. "Look, I _respect_ your privacy. I mean, when have I ever asked _you_ any questions? I mean…besides _that_ one?"

I sat stiffly, feeling horrified and embarrassed. I shouldn't have said anything. I was sorry I asked.

He could tell, and his eyes looked at me with such strange emotions that I shifted a little bit so that I didn't have to look at him.

We began to talk about the astrogation charts though. I didn't know how or why, but we did, and that was relaxing.

Until we talked about the voice print.

Until we talked about _him_.

So I asked about something else. Anything else.

The assassin droids.

"No more droid, no more problem," was all Atton said.

And I kept asking him things. They seemed like normal questions to me, questions an outsider asked an insider who didn't want to help.

But I saw the life in his eyes he answered, and my feeble response to the Force granted me a little understanding. He was thrilled to be helping me this way, talking me down from my own head.

Finally, I ran out of things to ask and he ran out of things to say. It had not been a long discourse, but it was longer than I'd had in years.

Awkwardly, I put my hands on my knees and slid off the counter. I'd go lay down maybe. Get away from the stress. Try to sleep. Maybe with the duress the nightmares would stay away. Besides, I felt calm right then. Less tumultuous than I had the last time I'd retreated to my quarters, that was for sure.

As I stepped across the threshold into the hallway, I heard him speak.

"What?" I asked, retreating closer to him to hear what he said more clearly.

"What happened?" he asked.

His voice was small. Cautious.

His question rang in my head. "When have I ever asked _you_ any questions?" he'd asked.

Hypocrite.

"What are you talking about?" I asked weakly.

"Don't give me that," he said abrasively. "There were _plenty_ of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful. So…where's yours? What happened to you?"

"It was…taken from me," I said numbly.

"By who?"

"By the Council," I said automatically.

I'd never talked about this. It had been such a long haul since then.

"Why?" he asked pointedly, as if to brush away any suggestion that he might actually care.

I could hear that he did.

"I, uh…" I put a hand to my forehead. I felt his eyes against my body and burned with shame. This discussion had quickly turned difficult.

"I was exiled," I said to him.

These felt like extremely intimate and personal questions.

"Why?" he asked again, crossing his arms.

I flushed.

"They told me I made a mistake," was all I said.

"What kind of mistake?"

"I fought in the wars."

"And they punished you?" he asked quietly, as if in awe. "They actually _punished_ you for this?"

I faced the hallway again, unable and unwilling to meet his dark and sympathetic gaze.

"Yeah," I said, extending my hands against the screen to hold myself up. "Yeah, they…"

I heard the wavering in my voice.

"I'm sorry," I said abruptly, "I…I don't want to talk about this. I'm sorry. I can't…I…"

"Yes," he agreed, abruptly turning back to the console behind him. "Yes, of course."

He cleared his throat.

"I'm…sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He made a noise. "_Again_."

I just sighed.

"It's okay," I said. "You deserve an answer."

He said nothing, which prodded my mouth to speak.

"Exiles aren't allowed to keep their lightsabers," I said to him wearily. "So mine was taken and here we are."

He scoffed again, but a little nicer this time.

"I thought a Jedi was supposed to married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong."

He hadn't.

"Were you a single hilt or one of those double-bladed Jedi?"

I thought. It was a struggle, wading through all these painful memories.

"Single," I finally said.

He made a judgmental sort of noise.

"Figures," he said.

I heard him gearing up to ask another question and stiffened.

"Wasn't red, was it?"

I stiffened at this, flipping around to face him.

"No," I snapped. "Nothing like that."

"Alright, sorry I asked!" he said, not sounding sorry. "What color was it then, princess?"

"It was unique."

"Unique how?" he asked incredulously, as if he'd seen all kinds and they all looked the same to him.

"It was silver," I offered him.

"What?"

"The crystal. It was silver. I made it myself."

He was silent.

"Must have been something," he said kindly, as if that would supplicate my discomfort.

I could tell he was impressed, and it made me a little warm.

"Would have been nice to have," he said cautiously.

"Maybe," I said quietly. "Hard to tell anymore."

"And what else happened to you?" he asked.

Now, I felt confused.

"What do you mean what else?"

"Well, you obviously have some kind of post traumatic thing going on," he said, looking me up and down.

I pursed my lips.

"I could just as easily say the same thing about you."

"Hey, easy!" he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean anything by it. Just curious."

"I don't mean to offend you," I said back carefully. "But…it really isn't your business, and I don't really know you at all."

He leered.

"We could fix that," he said, taking a step forward. "Do you want to know me?"

I felt red and backed into the wall.

"No, I -,"

"Because I'm sure it would be _very_ invigorating," he said, taking another step forward.

He reached forward and brushed my hair out of my face. His fingers lingered for a moment before clasping onto the back of my head and neck, but not roughly.

"Don't tell me you don't find this handsome rogue incredibly attractive?" he whispered into my ear.

My hands found the wall behind me. They shook, and I was sure he felt it.

But I had to be brave.

"Please," I said, tilting my head bravely to look him squarely in the eye. His nose could have brushed against mine if he turned just a millimeter to the left, it would have collided with mine. His breath, despite being in a prison for who knew how long and then with me all of the days before, didn't smell bad. It was sweet, like the milk we just drank.

I smiled at him winningly.

"Do you think I'll always cave so easily?" I asked his lips, leaning against the wall before pushing a very stunned, very impressed Atton away.

"I'm not _that_ weak!" I said, smiling over my shoulder.

He didn't reply as I walked away, not until I was opening the door to my new room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To rest!" I called back. "We're probably going to need it on Telos, so I suggest you get some too."

And with that, I walked out of the hallway and into the room, feeling much, _much_ better than I had before.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry (to everybody who's still with me) for the long delay. I'm a college student, so that obviously takes priority over this.**

**Though this is considerably more fun.**

**I'm sure there are some errors here or there, but I wanted to update anyway. I'll fix as I go, as I have thus far. Hope you enjoy. =)**

But the circumstances around us were quickly proving that I was, in fact, weaker than I had been in a long time. My temper was short. My emotions ran high. Tears welled constantly in my eyes, and my ability to hide it was deteriorating at a rapid pace. It was in the hours before arriving on Telos that I realized that I felt so uncomfortable because I had remained with the same people for so long. There was no place for me to hide or to run. I was being forced to endure. That was the name of the game. Endurance.

I'd once been known for it. Now, it made me itch. My whole body ached to physically separate myself from these two. The only reason I couldn't was because of the ship. Was because of Telos.

Because of my new destiny, the one Kreia had thrust on me.

Thoughts of this began to swirl around, and they festered and soiled any calmness that had accumulated with Atton's soothing voice. I was a speck in the galaxy, and the destiny it handed me asked me to hold the vacuum together with small strands of cloth.

How was a person like me supposed to do such a thing alone? I was no Jedi. I was not powerful, not exceptional. I had been, once, but now I was just a person. Just a woman.

That was why I was growing frustrated, I realized.

I was not a god. I was not a Jedi, not a symbol. I didn't want to be. I was a person. I was Nuneli. Just Nune.

People didn't understand this. I was beginning to realize that. Worse, they didn't care to understand. As I paced in my room, pent up with exhaustion but incapable of sleeping. I felt nothing but nerves. Stress.

How did a person deal with such a task? I thought of what my old Master would say. I thought of _him_. What would they do?

Take a deep breath and charge the hill, one hill at a time.

I stopped, squeezing and unsqueezing my hands, hoping to rid them of chills. This was good advice, I thought, nodding to myself. One hill at a time. Be prepared for one thing at a time.

And hope it ends quickly.

So…what was my first task, my first problem?

This was easy to answer. Being back in the public eye. I hadn't been active in Republic space in many long years. I couldn't help but to feel pain at the thought of being surrounded by voices that spoke my own language. I felt sick to think that people would see me and know me.

And talk about me to everybody they knew. That was how it would be. The Republic ship had reported me to higher – as they should, I thought, but doing so was foolish if they wanted me to actually _survive_.

Anger came then.

These people who did not understand could not possibly fathom the things I had gone through. Few could. Those who did earned my respect. Those who did not did not need me to actualize my disregard. They would throw me around in their ignorance, blatantly unaware of the fact that the name they were throwing around could very well cause my death.

The anger throbbed in me as I paced, struggling to reel it in. The Force tickled at my brain like a cough might at the back of one's throat, and I felt the purity it represented. It would not be aware of the fall, if I fell to the dark side, and I would be corrupted forever.

And so, thinking this, I took deep breaths, focusing on one thing at a time. One day, one hill, one task at a time. It could become a process of gross oversimplification. I was overwhelmed with the sensation of "too much, too soon," but that had to sit on the backburner. For now. I had to hide it.

Just like on Peragus, if hiding what I felt was what I had to do to make it through the day, hiding was what I was certainly going to do. Hiding was what I was best at, after all.

But, even with this decision, my confidence was not the highest it had ever been. I felt weak. Exhausted. Strained. I felt as if much had already been asked of me, but I could already tell by the way they both spoke of me that this was the beginning of something greater than I could possibly understand.

As such, when we began the approach to Telos station, I stood tall behind Atton's chair, just as we had before, and my grip there felt like my ballast to reality. Voices of all kinds crippled me otherwise, and it took an active concentration to drown them out and to focus at the task at hand.

I'd decided this task was to simply get through the initial leap of reentering Republic space. The introductions, the interviews, the strange, sometimes aggressive looks – all judgmental.

This would be the hardest. I would have to lie, and I had a few stories about myself already prepared from previous scenarios. I would lie, and lying to the Republic was hard. They had computers to check these things, people to eye you with distrust.

When the woman's voice hailed us on behalf of the Telos Security Force, things began to seem very real. And, for the first time in only a few days, anger became the driving force in the equation. Dangerous, emotions that billowed outwards in a torment of rage that was physically difficult to control.

I felt resentment that I had forgotten. I felt blame that even I recognized as that of bitterness, and in my logical mind, I knew that it was wrong.

But anger made it difficult to be calm, to breathe in, to charge the next hill.

I stood at the top of the ramp as the other two walked past me. The way they walked was as much a function of their personality as their voices were. Atton sauntered, Kreia marched, and I hesitated. Atton glanced back at me from the bottom, and I found myself extending my hand to the bag on my shoulder. This, like the chair had been in the cockpit, became my new crutch. My link to reality. I hoisted it higher on my back, but doing so was unnecessary. It was quite empty, but for the rock from my homeworld and the cloth from my last Jedi robes.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I took my first steps into Republic space in many years.

After this, things began to change very quickly. The first thing I noticed was Atton's attitude. He became shifty and glanced at me constantly, as if he were looking for a chance for me to look away so that he could run. This hurt, I realized, and it brought with it a new realization. Our interactions, mine and Atton's, Atton's and Kreia's, Kreia's and mine, they'd all been isolated incidents. It had been three days since our meeting, but it felt like a lifetime already.

But that didn't mean that our interactions would always be so kind or so loyal. Atton was not with me because he wanted to be. He was with me because he had to be. He was not my friend. He was someone who was thrown into the situation that _I_ was in, and I alone could lead him out of it.

That was that. I was just business.

The first time this angered me was the approach of the Lieutenant. Atton leaned over to me and spoke to me as if I'd never met another person before, as if I was too stupid to know any different. He told me not to give away the fact that Peragus had been blown up, not to "blow it."

This made me angry, and I felt all the progress of calm I had worked for in the last three days crumble somewhat. Without Atton, it was just me again. Or worse, me and the hag.

My anger grew inwards as he continued to coach me about what I should say, how I should say it. Only once did I lash out and suggest that if he thought me so incapable that _he _should be the smooth talker, and this shut him up fairly quickly.

I found myself milling outside of my ship with my companions, surrounded by people and feeling alone. I couldn't help but to reprimand myself. I should have known better than to trick myself into letting anybody in, especially someone as slippery and difficult as Atton. He obviously had some kind of past. His reaction to my slap, his deflection of his past, his insistence on talking about the fact that I was a Jedi. It had to mean something.

I'd wanted to find out what it was.

Now, if he was going to leave, it didn't matter nearly as much.

I felt the Force tug at my resolve, yank at me, as if it were a child asking for a sweet. Over and over and over and over. I grew angry with its presence. It was a child I didn't want. A responsibility I'd left behind because that was what had been asked of me.

I felt so helpless because I'd made myself helpless.

I didn't know how to proceed, and the frustration grew until I couldn't take it anymore. I waited in the gray hangar, pacing impatiently. The clanging of the metal floor beneath me echoed in the eerie stillness of the giant room, and the cold vacuum of space made me shiver.

When the Lieutenant approached, I stood at attention, confused but wary, cautiously defensive.

_They don't know who I am_, I chanted to myself. _I'm just another person landing on Telos. They know the ship, but not me_.

Automatically, I began to reestablish an alibi. I was going to be…who? Meetra Surik. Sure. That was a good enough name. Meetra. And I was from…where? Somewhere far enough away so that it would be difficult to check. Someplace that wasn't even a Republic world. Tatooine? Tatooine was the worst, and there'd be no record of me ever having been born there. I could just be an anonymous nobody from Tatooine. My father was a moisture farmer. My mother had died of…Rat Womp Fever.

It was believable. I could do it. It was possible.

And then, I noticed things I hadn't before. Like the fact that he was escorted by ten men, all with guns in hands, who looked pale faced with wide eyes. Like the fact that the man himself wouldn't look at me, almost as if he was afraid of what my presence might mean.

Or the fact that the door had locked behind him, and the docking bay window was slowly closing, as if to lock us in.

_They know_, I thought to myself. _They know _everything_. _

The Lieutenant began to read me a script. I was to be placed under house arrest.

This wasn't how I'd planned it. I'd wanted to sidle back into the stream of progress that was Republic space, not be thrown in head first into the icy stream.

_How do you know all this?_ I found myself screaming inwardly. _This isn't fair! I've hidden for so long!_

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"This is outrageous!" I finally shouted, taking a step forward.

Surprisingly, Atton's hand grabbed my forearm to hold me back. I yanked out of his grip, but I didn't advance again.

"You don't have _any_ evidence!" I continued to shout. "You don't know who we are, and you have no right to detain us here like this!"

"You are suspects in an ongoing Republic investigation and must be detained, as protocol -,"

"Protocol?!" I shrieked. "Do you _know_ what your _protocol_ will cost you all?"

"Is that a threat?" the Lieutenant asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, a warning, you nerf herder!" I shouted. "People are going to be following us."

"Really, people are following just you," Atton interjected, almost as if he'd said something amiable.

I shot him my most hateful look.

"Gee, thanks," I spat, making a noise to match the daggers in my eyes. "So, I'm sorry, Lieutenant, there are people after _me _that are now going to be after _him-_" I pointed at Atton "-and _you_ if you don't let us go. If you keep us here, they'll most certainly catch up. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

The entourage of security forces began to tense and twitch their fingers towards their weapons, shifting nervously on their feet.

"If you're in some kind of trouble -,"

"Not nearly like the trouble you're going to be in after all of this is over!" I shouted again, throwing up my hands. "This is ridiculous!"

The men gripped their guns tightly now.

Something dawned on me as I saw it. I took a step back.

"They know who I am…" I whispered under my breath to Atton.

"Sorry?" the Lieutenant asked abrasively.

I put my hands over my ears. I didn't want to hear his voice. I didn't want to hear the voices or the Force or Kreia's babbling or Atton's rich deep speech. I just wanted to go somewhere quiet and peaceful, somewhere isolated but not alone, involved but not integral. I wanted to go away.

"I want to go home," I whispered to myself weakly.

The sentence resonated with me.

I had not said the words in a long time because I didn't know where home was.

"Do you understand?" the Lieutenant was asking me, leaning forward now angrily.

I could barely understand him. Not that I was listening.

"What?" I asked him weakly.

"Do you _understand_?" he asked slower and louder.

It didn't help.

"How do they know who I am?" I asked Atton, eyes wide, all anger gone. "How is that possible? How is that…they must be on comm with my location, they must have...told somebody."

I felt a moment of helplessness.

"Do they want me to die?" I whispered to myself.

Atton's eyes crunched together at the edges. His dark brown eyes looked evenly at mine for a long time, seeing more than I was sure I gave him credit for. I tried to relay how helpless I felt. I tried to relay my desperation for him to stay, to have a ballast. I had a need of an anchor, and he could be that anchor. Even if he cast the blame constantly out of his court.

It would be just for a little while. Just until I felt better. It wouldn't have to be that long. I could go back to being anonymous. But I needed him for a little while.

He looked so sad, suddenly, that his normally hard lines softened, almost slouching. They collapsed in on themselves until finally he looked away from me, and I found myself looking around constantly, barely even aware.

"We understand," I finally said, feeling angry and bitter all at once.

Atton disapproved of this choice and made a sour kind of noise for it.

"Tell me I'm not going to jail again," he said, shoving by me with his shoulder so hard that I almost fell.

The anger receded again, as it always did around him, replaced by fear of repudiation and shame. Based on his tone, he'd expected me to do something else. Fight maybe.

No, couldn't do that. Too tired. Too weak. Too frightened to let it in.

The Lieutenant said something else, and before we knew it, we were all heading silently towards jail.


	12. Chapter 12

"What the hell happened back there?" Atton asked me after we were alone.

He was in a cell next to me. We were separated by electronic fields of energy, and it made me feel safe. Contained.

"What do you mean, Atton?" I asked tiredly, putting a hand to my forehead.

"You lost your temper. What was that?"

"I don't know. I just lost my temper. Is that a crime?"

"I thought it was with you Jedi princesses. Never lose your temper. Never show emotion. You pretty much blew that rule out of the water."

"Look, what do you want to hear, Atton?" I asked, standing taller and turning to face him directly. "That I was the perfect Jedi? That I shouldn't have lost my temper, that I should be calm and serene and 'there is no emotion, there is peace' on you?"

His body language scowled as much as his mouth did.

"I obviously _wasn't _the perfect Jedi! And, in case you haven't gathered yet, I haven't been a Jedi for _ten_ years! Ten!"

This seemed to silence the next snarky comment on his lips.

"Ten years?" he asked, blinking. "Is that – how old are you?"

"I was seventeen years old when I went to war," I said, putting my palms to my eyes to calm the coming tears. "Not that it matters to you."

"Seventeen?" he repeated weakly.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "And then when I was nineteen, I went back to the Council, and they took the Force from me. Ripped it out of me."

I wrapped my own arms around my torso, incapable of stifling a shudder.

"Whatever," I said, scowling with my eyes closed. "Just leave me alone. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"How do they know who you are?" he asked me after a few long, awkward moments.

"I don't know," I said. "But if they do, that means that some Sith sure as hell knows who I am and where I am right now. They're idiots. All of them."

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

I finally looked at him again, feeling a mixture of pity and anger.

"I…people shouldn't be around me. I was alone for a reason."

"What was that?"

"Because it isn't safe for people to be around me. I'm…wrong. People are…wrong around me. I don't know how to explain it."

Atton and I both glanced over at Kreia at the same time. I smiled weakly when I noticed this. We both saw that she was asleep, or at least appeared to be asleep. It was difficult to tell with her.

"What do you mean 'wrong?'" he asked quietly.

I felt my face paling. My knees felt weak, and I wished I didn't have to explain it to somebody as handsome as he was. I almost wished that I'd been landed with someone hideous, with a greasy beard and a fat belly, large bony hands, and two left feet.

That would have been easier.

"People die around me," I said to him. "Because I was a Jedi. They don't care who I am now."

He didn't react to this. To him, this seemed obvious, and he even blinked as if he was confused as to why I even felt the need to explain it. The familiar relief I felt around him poured over me.

"They haven't killed you yet," he finally whispered, offering me a tired smile.

Something about this made me ache inside, but it was a good ache. It was an ache to remain with him, wherever he went, just to hear him say nice things like that once in a while.

It had been so long since anybody had afforded me any kindness at all.

"No," I agreed, "not yet."

"You should use a fake name or something," he suggested to me jokingly.

Even more tension rolled off.

"Who says I don't?" I joked back teasingly.

He stood tall and turned to face me with a reluctant smile.

"Do you?" he asked me, eyes wide in surprise.

I laughed.

"Only a little bit," I conceded. "My real name is Nuneli. Ki'ili is not my second name."

"Your last name?"

"Yeah," I said vaguely, shrugging.

"Well...what is it?"

I shrugged again, purposefully ambiguous. I didn't want to discuss how wrong it was that I was using _his_ last name.

"I'm betting you'll find out," I replied good-naturedly, "but it doesn't really matter right now, does it?"

He eyed me for a moment, and the longing on his face grew in intensity for just a moment before looking away.

"So...then I guess I'll just have to call you Nel," he said.

I opened my mouth.

"What?" I said, reluctantly indignant. "No!"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "If I don't have a last name, and your first name, it doesn't seem like I have a choice, does it?"

I opened my mouth to reply again when a voice to our side made us both jump.

"Someone is coming," Kreia abruptly said, making both of us jump.

It was a man. He looked almost mousy, very small. His face was twisted unnaturally, scarred on one side, and his blue eyes were piercing and chilling. Cruel. He wore a TSF uniform, but he sauntered, nothing like the other soldiers who had escorted us here. He wanted to be noticed.

"That's no guard," Atton mumbled to me softly.

I nodded, and we both stood tall.

"So this is the last of the Jedi," he said with a voice that made my skin crawl. "I must admit that I'm a little disappointed."

He gave me a once over, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel shame. The anger I felt finally had a target, and I wanted it so badly to be him.

"Why don't you let me out of this cage, sweetheart?" I asked him, putting a hand on my hip. "We'll just _see_ how disappointed you are."

"Oh ho!" he said, raising his eyebrows with pleasure. "Fight. I like that."

"I bet you do," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

"I am pledged to kill you."

"Really?" I asked, smirking. "And how do you know I'm one of these 'Jedi?'"

"Aren't you?" he asked knowingly, meeting my eyes carefully.

"Of course not," I said, shrugging casually, despite my racing heart. "My name is Meetra. I'm the daughter of a moisture farmer on Tatooine."

He eyed me for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"How charming you are!" he said. "I can see the stories the others have said about you have been true."

This wiped the smirk off my face. I knew who he spoke of. The only reputation I had anymore should have been of infamy throughout Sith space.

"I'm not the Jedi you think I am," I spat maliciously.

Atton glanced at me, I saw out of the corner of my eye, and I could tell he was surprised.

"Jedi or no, you're the one I am pledged to kill – there is no mistaking that."

He took a step forward and put a hand to the top of my energy cage. His approach physically reviled me, and the safety I'd once felt in the cage was now stifling. I realized how trapped I was.

"What a fine woman you are," he said, eyes flitting around me shiftily.

"Go away from me," I ordered angrily.

"The Exchange has a bounty on Jedi, you know."

The indignity of this was astounding. Jedi, for all their flaws, were beacons of hope for society when they wanted to be. They were benevolent gods.

"They are not things to be bartered!" I said a little louder.

"You're worth quite a bit of money," the man continued, leaning in to peer at me closer.

"You will not provoke me, murderer!" I said even louder.

He leered at me as the warmth in my face rose. He was baiting me – and baiting me _well_ too. It was hard to quell the rising anger inside of me.

"What I wouldn't pay to watch you dance…" he whispered.

"SHUT UP!" I shouted finally.

I felt something snap, some leash I'd had on my control slip away for just a moment. Power surged through me, and the lights in the room dimmed before returning to full brightness. I felt breathless as the power began to inundate me, and, like putting a lid back on a boiling pot of water, I struggled and hurt as I tried to reel it all in.

"Stop…" I whispered breathlessly. "Stop taunting me. I can't help it. Please, stop."

"I'm going to enjoy this," he said, grinning evilly.

"Hey, pal, you said you're from the Exchange?" a voice asked next to me.

It was Atton. Of course. The leash, which had fallen so forlornly to the floor of the room my control lived in, hastened to reattach itself to my willpower. I felt mildly embarrassed, but Atton seemed not to have even noticed.

The man in the room turned to face Atton.

"What about it?"

"I'm pretty sure some two-bit pistol jockey like yourself _isn't_ with the Exchange."

I glanced at the man now. His mouth had turned from that of a satisfied Gammorean to that of a womp rat whose dinner had been snatched away.

"I'm more than skilled enough to work for the Exchange," the man said testily.

Atton scowled that scowl I'd learned to hate so much.

"You bounty hunters couldn't even win a fair fight," Atton goaded. "You're the _cheapest_, most worthless mercenary scum in the galaxy. I'd hire a _Mandalorian_ over your filth in a _second_."

The insult was not lost on me, and I felt a grin spread widely and innocently on my face as he glanced between the two of us, now enraged.

"No Mandalorian could match my skills!" the man said loudly. "No _Mandalorian_ could have been clever enough to infiltrate this station, taken the identity of one of the guards, then –"

"—then what?" Atton asked, shrugging casually. "Overloaded our force cage fields and made it look like an accident?"

The man's face said it all. This had been his plan.

He looked so angry that it took everything in me not to laugh out loud.

"You probably don't even have the guts to fight me." Atton snorted. "Pathetic."

"You're wanted alive," the man said, turning away from us now, "but I doubt anyone will care as long as I bring them your _corpses_."

He made his way over the computer now, and Atton and I glanced at each other. Something in his face made me feel urgent, and the laughter died in my chest.

"We're in a TSF station," I snapped angrily. "How do you expect to get away with this?"

The man sounded satisfied all over again, and this time panic began to descend.

At least he wanted to kill the others. What would he do with me?

"The security cameras have mysteriously shorted out," the man explained conversationally. "There will be no witnesses to your escape attempt, during which I'll have been forced to kill you." He pretended to pout. "What a shame."

I scowled, crossing my arms.

"By the time the TSF realize I'm not one of them, I will be far from this place."

"Is that so?" I asked, leaning forward. "Because if you let me out, I can show you exactly what I'm going to do to make sure your body stays _right here_."

Abruptly, my force cage shorted out.

And there was nothing between him and me.

I stumbled out of the cage clumsily, remembering my legs, but I tried to harden my resolve. It had been a long time since I'd fought anybody. Close personal contact was something I avoided because of it now.

"Come on, Jedi," he said cruelly. "You wanted to fight, didn't you?"

I didn't answer, glancing around the corners of the room. Something switched on inside of my brain that my eyes could communicate, and the messages of this secret knowledge began to siphon into my understanding quickly, like an old habit coming alive again.

I saw things very rapidly, all at once, and I assessed the best means to proceed. Doing so, I looked around the incarceration room now. Behind me was a wall and a footlocker. He was between me and the door. He had a gun and a knife on his hip, and the way he stood was domineering. He would enjoy breaking me, I thought. Behind him and to his right, my left, the computer stood, waiting for just a single button to be pressed that would let out my new allies.

He was bigger and stronger. I was outgunned and outmanned. Fighting him directly would be impossible, and in order to avoid unnecessary bloodshed on my behalf, I would be forced to use means I had not accessed in some time.

I would have to channel the things inside of me until I had a better grip on my control of the Force. Until then, emotions, raw and volatile, would have to do.

This made me feel weak, not strong, small, not larger than life.

I wasn't the same person I'd been as a Jedi.

My knees shook visibly as I took a step towards the far corner of the room.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you down," the man said, ripping these jarring thoughts from me.

I constantly cooled my rage and panic, struggling to remember what it was I was supposed to do.

Fight.

I had to fight him.

Tentatively, I rose my fists to my face. I glanced at them both, as if they were foreign objects I hadn't seen in a long time.

He laughed with a sneer, and Atton inched closer to the force cage.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he said loudly. "You want a fight? Then try me, if you've got the guts!"

"Oh, but you'll be so much less fun!" the man said, walking confidently past Atton to inch ever closer to me. He extended a hand. "Come with me willingly, and you will not be harmed."

"He's lying," I whispered to myself.

It was the voice of an old friend deep inside of me that I had not met in a very long time. She was there, just as she always had been, and I was surprised to find that this friend was not withered and weak in the darkness. She approached the light resolutely, coming out bravely and with the knowledge she'd always had.

This friend was me, and I was not as lost as I'd always wanted to be. For the first time, this thought braced me.

"He's lying," I whispered to myself, stepping away as he stepped forward. "He's going to capture me, he's going to torture me, and then he's probably going to kill me." I snorted. "No, he's going to use my body and _then _he's going to kill me."

My eyes found his resolutely.

"I am a body to you," I announced to nobody in particular.

He sneered in response, extending his hand more demandingly this time.

"Your hand, girl, give me your hand. You're coming with me."

"_No_," I said pointedly, raising my hands higher but no more confidently.

The old friend inside of me was there at my back, hand comfortingly on my shoulder. She would watch, sure, but she couldn't help me. She'd been gone for too long, and that took too much to bring her back so immediately.

"So you want to fight?" the man asked.

He raised his pistol, pointed it at my lower torso, and fired.

Pain. I instantly recoiled into myself, pressing my hands instinctively to my side. They became bloody instantly, and I moaned with the sensation of feeling as if I now had a crack in the cup that was my body. Liquid, warm, sticky, and awful, spilled out of my side. My eyes blurred and I thought of nothing else. Nothing but…

Pain.

That was what this was.

It was pain all over again.

Pain and agony and anguish.

But it was isolated pain. Pain isolated from fear.

I had to fight. Even if I'd bleed to death before I managed to accomplish anything. It might not be doable, but this was a challenge from which I could not back down simply because I had no choice.

Taking a shaky breath, I gave in to my new mantra, willing my arms to push myself off the icy floor to face him once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Again, the anger came, and – again – it wasn't directed at the one person it should have been. Instead, relative to her, there were other emotions brewing, emotions I wished I could suppress simply because they were inconvenient. I worried for her. She'd been shot. That Exchange thug let her out, and he beat her in front of me after drawing a gun and firing. Something about that caused muscles in my entire body to tighten and then recoil, like a spring, ready to explode in a fit of anger at the man.

Batu Rem, the man said he was at one point. When? During the fight? Or was Batu the man he was impersonating? It didn't matter. She'd been beaten and nearly dragged out of the room.

I was reminded of how small and young she was. Despite who she may have been once, she struck me as so utterly helpless and little now. Almost as if she was a child who needed to be constantly cared for. Men were bigger and stronger, and without a buddy to rely on, I was shocked that she'd survived as much as she obviously had. She just looked so small, and her grunts of pain (she wasn't one to scream, I saw it in her eyes) only intensified as the man grappled with her resolve. He wanted her to scream and beg. He shoved his fingers into her wounds, and the noises she made ignited a fire inside of me that only came because I was a man and she was a woman.

But she wouldn't scream, and I almost wanted to think, _that's my girl_. But I didn't. Not quite.

He finally grabbed her by the hair and began to simply drag her out of the room by it, like it was scruff…

Until _it_ happened.

She lost it.

The Force, something, it exploded out of her. It was as if the pain had released this leash that had been around her neck, and without it she was an eager dog, waiting to thrash anybody who dared try to take advantage of her.

The man blew across the room with a crunch, and she was on her feet in what seemed like no time. She'd taken the man and lifted him from the ground from across the room, reaching for him as if her fingers controlled invisible hands that followed her bidding. She threw him behind her at the far wall, and the man had landed there with another crunch.

Bleeding, limping, she made her way over to the controls on the opposite wall, pressed a button, and the controls for our force cages evaporated just in time for me to scramble to the place that she was to catch her.

The security forces came in then. They had the nerve to open the door, blasters blazing, ready to attack her at a moment's notice, as if they knew she'd have exploded like this. As if she was a criminal to be kicked around and spat on.

This made me angry. Even more, it made me angry that they wouldn't listen to me when I explained what happened. It made me angry when they didn't listen to her as she tried to tell them that she didn't mean it, that it was an accident, it wasn't her fault. It made me angry that they brushed her to the side to investigate the murderer's corpse instead of helping her, bleeding and obviously quite shaken. It made me so angry that they threw us a bunch of medical supplies, supplied us with one supply droid, and shoved us away into a little apartment that locked from the outside. Trapped in a room. Again.

At least this room had beds and a large window and a refresher. This room had space and room to walk around.

I fumed as I paced back and forth, shaking my head a little every now and then, just steaming in my rage. How had I gotten mixed up with a crazy Jedi? She'd utterly destroyed that man. It was clear by the look on her face afterwards that it really had been an accident. She'd appealed to me, bleeding, eyes wide and full of guilt, trying with a desperation to explain the unexplainable.

"I didn't mean it," she'd said to me. "I didn't know I could do that! I'm sorry!"

I'd looked away, feeling angrier with the people around her than really at her.

But now, in the quiet and the still, with the old woman sitting cross legged "meditating" and Nune taking her sweet old time in the shower of the one refresher they'd given us, things began to fester for the worse.

"It was an accident," she'd told them. "I really am sorry. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't mean to hurt him."

This made me snort, shaking my head with my furious pacing on the floor.

_Sure,_ she hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd only thrown him across the room into a wall with enough force to shatter bones. Of _course,_ that had just been she and him playing. She might as well have been tickling him. It obviously wasn't an effort to assault him or incapacitate him. What an _idiot._

What did she _think_ was going to happen? That if she used the Force, everything would be fine? It would all be alright? It never happened that way. I'd meant what I'd said the first time I met her. When there's one Jedi, the Republic will be crawling up your ion engine in no time. They would be all over us. And, worse, so would the people who were following us.

Then, she emerged from the refresher, and I found my neck snapping to attention almost like she was a general and I was her soldier. I noted this with a scowl and made a deliberate effort to slouch again when I saw the way she was dressed. Or not dressed, as it were. She was wrapped in a giant towel, giant enough to cover her naked body underneath, but when she saw me, she made a chirping noise I'd never heard out of her (that was painfully endearing and cute) and retreated back behind the door, manually sliding it partially closed.

"Don't look at me!" she cried, muffled through the door.

My insides suddenly burned at the thought of how close she was, how naked she was. If it wasn't for the old woman, I'd have gone in there right then and made her want it, even if she didn't know that she did yet. Nobody could resist me. I was sure of it. I saw the yearning in her eyes as much as I was sure she noticed that some of my flirtation was new territory for me.

We could break, cave, meet in the middle. It was doable.

Maybe, if I went into the refresher, I could make myself forget what she was. After all, it had taken a significant amount of duress for the Force to explode out of her. Something inside of me made me want to make sure she was recovered from this. She deserved to be…taken care of, after all. I could do that. I could do that for her, no sweat.

And maybe I could forget who _I_ was too in the process, drowning in her so much that I lost myself.

"Are you looking?" she asked with an almost childlike tone.

"Well, I'll certainly try to when you come back out!" I called back, smirking.

Her head reemerged again now, this time indignant, and she scowled at me.

"Then hand me the clothes there," she snapped. "I forgot them."

"I don't know, gorgeous," I said back, feeling the warmth explode out of me at the mere thought of seeing her again like that. "You might have to ask a little nicer."

"Atton, I…"

She made an indignant sort of noise, and, despite myself, a real laugh came out. A real laugh. The warmth spread as a reluctant smile burst onto those wide lips, and her bare arm extended out around her dripping hair.

"Atton, please, come on!"

Her shoulder was exposed, along with her collarbone and a thin sliver of her hip, covered by the towel, and whatever I might have said after this faded into this choked feeling that settled desperately in my throat. Wordlessly now, struggling to keep from forcing my way into the refresher and taking her sweet lips that could cause laughter to bubble out of me, I handed her the mass of clothes that had been on the bed, feeling terribly…out of place. Something unfamiliar and warm and itchy made my hand wince away when her fingers brushed it, and I was grateful to be alone in the silence once more.

I felt suddenly breathless and terrified, like if her hands touched me they'd somehow have the power to read all that those hands had done. I found myself looking at them, feeling that warmth drain away into bitterness.

She was sweet, all things considered. She was sweet and kind – to a fault, it would seem. She put up with me still, despite all I'd done, and, even at my expressed desire to ditch her, she bantered with me and put up with it, stowing it away like it didn't hurt her. When I knew it did. Why did I do that? Did I want her to be unhappy?

She reemerged before I could address this question, and I found that the choked feeling hadn't receded.

"Thank you, Mr. Rand," she said, yawning weakly.

She didn't meet my eyes now, and I saw that the brief respite of the tension we'd had was gone once more, obliterated with the memories of what we'd both seen her do.

"How did you do that?" I finally asked her.

She stood stock still before going over to a bed. She shook, and dark bags under her eyes made her young, now-clean face look a little dead – like the woman from the holo who'd looked so lost and broken.

"I don't know," she finally whispered, looking up at me honestly.

Her palms were upwards, and tears brimmed into her eyes.

"I really didn't mean to hurt him," she said, bringing her palms to wrap around her torso, as if to protect herself. "I'm…sorry."

This floored me.

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"You didn't ask for this," she whispered to me, more tears falling in shiny lines down her face.

"Wait…neither did you."

She shrugged, obviously trying to stop the tears from falling. The sight of it hurt that budding warmth that had receded at the vision of her bare flesh, and the sweetness I'd seen in her made me want to be sweet back. But I didn't know how to be. That made me angry with myself.

"This is what happens when the Force comes back," she said, suddenly sounding viciously defensive. "They must have taken it from me for a reason. I – this is wrong! This is so wrong!"

I took a step forward and then stopped myself. What had I wanted? To grab her, cover her mouth and body with small kisses, covet her skin with hands that shouldn't touch any other woman, to hold her with an aching desperation that was dwarfed only by her need to be held. I yearned for her and found myself envious of any man who'd had the luxury.

If there was any other man.

_No_, I found myself thinking. _Not my business_.

Besides, I couldn't be with her. Then, thinking this, I rebuked my own desires. I couldn't do that. Why would I want to? She was just a stranger I'd met under mysterious circumstances. We were kind of almost friends, yeah, and that made her so totally off limits that I shouldn't even notice how beautiful she was.

"I've fracked this up so bad," she said, looking to the ceiling and lying back on the bed. "I shouldn't be here. I'm not special."

An unstoppable noise of disbelief emerged from my mouth, and she just closed her eyes, flinging her arms over her head tiredly.

It revealed every perfect curve in her body, enunciated by the way she laid up against the pillow, and it seemed almost as if an angel had come to where she'd been laying and posed just for me to swallow her up with my eyes. I was struck by the sensation that I had never seen anything as beautiful as she was right in those moments, despite the tears, the bitterness, the messy hair, the strange-hand-me-down clothing. There was nothing more beautiful than she was.

The sensation drowned me a little bit, and I tried to look away, but I was so mesmerized with the feeling that I wanted to give in to it. How was it possible for somebody like me to feel so good again? How could she possibly be making me feel this way?

Then, she shifted, curled into a ball, and whispered, "I'm really sorry for meeting you, Atton."

This struck me as kind of insulting.

"Gee, thanks," I snapped.

Weakly, she made a noise similar to a whimper.

"Not like that," she said. "I'm glad I met you."

"Then what did you mean, princess?" I asked, but the words weren't as petulant as they could have been.

"I mean, I'm just sorry you had to meet me."

She rolled over now, leaving me standing there, unsure of what to say or how to say it, what I was feeling or why I was feeling it. I just stood still, feeling strange empathy that had never taken hold of me. Again, the feeling drowned me, and I didn't know what to do. It hurt, I realized, and that made me angry. So furious. Who was _she_ to try to make me feel that way? Who was _she_ to put me in that place? Who was _she_ to make all these things come bubbling out of me in a torrent of anguish?

I was a smuggler, a thief, and a liar. She was pure. The more I spent time with her, the more I saw it. She was something that was so unfiltered and rare and good that even bad things could not taint it. She had no right to try to worm her way into me the way she was.

Scowling, I stomped into the refresher, waited for the door to the close, and thoughts of her perfect image, splayed lazily at perfect angles, took me. Even when I closed my eyes, she was there, and the scowl deepened. I pressed my palms to my eyes, wondering what would make it go away, feeling so irrationally angry with her that I wanted to scream out.

What were my options?

Get in bed with her. Go back outside and climb on top of her, give her what she deserved, what she ached for. What _I_ ached for.

Intimacy.

No, couldn't do that. The hag was there.

Kiss her?

Maybe, but it would be hard to stop. And she'd throw me off of her, just like Batu Rem. And suddenly, that rejection mattered to me more than even I could have anticipated.

No, couldn't risk that. I'd stick to harmless advances and flirtations for now. Safer this way.

So what was there to do?

Hurt her?

Something evil and small inside of me rose up to laugh at this, satisfied that this was even an option on my agenda.

_Yes_, it said, _you want to cut her. Make her beg_.

_No_! I thought to myself, suddenly feeling breathless.

I took my palms from my eyes and shook my head, as if it would rid me of that evil voice that I knew would be there.

"Stop it…" I whispered to myself.

But, again, pure and intoxicating, her small body came crawling back into my mind like the worm I'd come to know her for. Worm her way in. Slowly but surely.

How did she do that?

I turned the nozzle to the shower as the aching grew inside of me for some kind of release of this mounting pressure inside for me to kiss her, brush past her, squeeze her, do something. Her figure, lying so helplessly in that bed, was burned in my mind. Groaning, and with the knowledge that despite my exhaustion I'd likely not be sleeping, I forced myself to make myself clean.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Sorry followers! I'm trying my best. After college and a wrist injury, going is slow. However, just know that I _will_ _not_ abandon this story. It isn't in me to leave things unfinished.**** Just fyi!**

P.S. Thanks to yuuka-hanamaya, Dominique Sotto for your reviews! Your support makes me feel welcome as a newbie on Fanfiction!

* * *

It'd been three days since we'd learned our ship had been stolen, and, despite everyone wanting to meet her, nobody was available _right now_. We were sitting, waiting, and the anger and resentment I felt began to fester. But it was not at her. Not really. It should've been, maybe, but it wasn't. No, instead, I felt angry with the Republic. I felt angry that they treated her so poorly. I felt angry that they knew more about her than I did.

Insecurities and inadequacies tugged at my ability to cope with this gem of information. She wasn't half bad, and if I didn't know any better I would reach the conclusion that she and I were quickly becoming friends. Companions. Allies.

The irony made me feel bitter.

Despite this, I felt strange loyalty to her. I found myself wanting to take care of her. But it wasn't even because I was attracted to her. Which I was. Gods, I was. More than I had been to anybody in a long time, maybe even more than I ever had with any other woman.

No, I wanted to stick with her because I found her very…sad. She was like a little helpless baby, and it was almost irritating. She could handle herself in a fight, but even for my standards I recognized that she was dysfunctional.

And I knew a _lot_ about being dysfunctional.

Still, past this irritation, I felt companionship with her in a way that I had not since before the war. I found myself beginning to like her, which really was very inconvenient considering the fact that I would have to run away from her the second I got a chance. In fact, I found myself dwelling on her in more than just erotic ways. I wondered about her military experience. I wondered about her childhood. I wondered about her homeworld, what her parents were like if she could remember. And, most of all, I wondered about her and Revan.

One of the first things that she had said to me had been about her mastery over Revan.

That had to be a good bar story. But thinking of bars made me think of being alone, and this train of thought was constantly reminding me of my duty to her.

I had to leave her behind and never come back. I'd already been around her for too long, and I was afraid that prolonged exposure would damn us both. I found myself wanting to preserve her. I felt dirty when she came near, and that made me ache in a way that I had not in many years. But it wasn't her doing. In fact, she was beginning to lose that frightened looked that had plagued her eyes every time she turned around and saw that I was still there.

The way she looked at me made me strangely proud.

And that felt _good_.

But, I wasn't nearly good enough to have the right to look after her. I would need to leave. And I would leave. It was not a question of if, but instead the question of when. I was bad, and even a bad person who followed a good person around to do good things was still a bad person. I didn't want that to follow her too.

On the fifteenth day after she'd tumbled into my prison on Peragus, after too much build up and not enough release, I couldn't take this thought anymore. She left with the old bitch for something or other and I flew into a rage. I punched the wall, threw everything off my bed, yelled out her name in fury.

Then, a moment passed and I just stood there, breathing heavily, aching like a lost child, thoughts of her consuming me. I found myself aroused but also ashamed, and I ignored it until I was able to will it away. When that was done, I cleaned the place until it was spotless.

She walked in after a while and met my eyes. The warmth that spread to my limbs was immediate, even after she narrowed her eyes shrewdly at the newly clean surroundings. She either didn't notice or said nothing. I suspected she did and chose silence. I was grateful.

The Queen of Cryptic entered next, and her silence was not nearly as generous. Her eyes narrowed coldly, as if to peer deeper into me, and I felt the cold, grimy, slithery thing that she was underneath her physical form. I threw up all the familiar walls, but when she turned away to "meditate," she kind of smirked. _She_ was the second kind of Jedi. So much Force that anybody who had anything to hide might as well spill the rations out.

And, more and more, I knew I could never do that. Not in front of Nune. I found myself preferring that she die or I did before she knew the truth about me.

Because she already had enough to deal with. Post-traumatic stress was a bitch, and I'd seen it and felt it too many times not to recognize that the first war had been bad enough. She wouldn't have even survived through the second war. I was sure of it.

I found myself glad that she'd disappeared during that time. Every single time I thought it, I felt relief. I really did like her, after all. She seemed like…a real person. She wasn't some goddess or anything. She was almost like me. Only better.

She was quiet and frightened and helpless, with an ass any mother would have been proud of. Kind of a bimbo sometimes. But she didn't deserve to have done to her what I did to so many others. I was glad she was a master of running and moving quietly. If she wasn't a Jedi, she would have made one hell of a scout or smuggler.

Then again, maybe she had been one. She'd been gone for ten years, she said. Long time to be away from everything and everyone. Plenty of practice to hide.

Maybe that was why she was so jumpy. She couldn't hide if she was the center of attention.

Which, of course, she was. It was hard not to notice just…something about her. Something that seemed small when we'd met but that was now growing every day. It made her more beautiful. Even just walking down the streets caused people to look at her body, and that was an entirely different attention I'd already recognized made her upset. It made me feel jealous and possessive.

Which was very strange.

I was inherently jealous and possessive by nature, but it had been a long time since I had invested enough in somebody to feel like they were mine. And I did feel like that with Nel. I had begun to call her that just so that I could say that it was my nickname for her, and mine alone.

It was almost like I had stumbled upon a buried treasure that everybody wanted a piece of. But I found it first, and I wanted to keep it, even if I knew I couldn't keep her for long, even if I knew she wouldn't want me if she knew who I really was.

Or rather, who I really had been. I was not the same man that I had been. Something about her encouraged this small hope. Despite her…"bimbosity."

But…

I knew I shouldn't really think of her that way. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a fool. She saw a lot. Probably more than I gave her credit for. She also showed flashes of promise, of past capability. It was almost like she was hiding and was afraid to come out. I just wished that she would. If she opened up a little bit more, it would be a lot easier to leave her.

Wondering what she was really like would haunt me for a long time.

Thinking all this had become compulsory because of how quiet she was, but that was hard because – before her – I had tried not to think like this. Mostly, if I was alone with her, I might as well have just been by myself. And so, when she stopped to peer out a large window one day, I nearly ran into her.

Like always, this sent the man in me into a feverish frenzy.

She'd purchased new clothes at the store for herself. They were formfitting, and they made her look beautiful. Her leggings were long, black, and she bought boots that looked like she could move quietly in them. Her shirt, loose and hanging over her shoulder, was a simple tan color. Typical Jedi color.

But it revealed the cloth that covered her breasts from nearly every angle. The cloth was really an undershirt, but clung to her in all the ways that I wanted my hands to. It was a green color. I was beginning to like green.

Mulling this over finally became too much for my resolve to handle, and I whispered her name into her ear, hoping the sound of my voice would shut out my head.

"Hey," I whispered.

She jumped, flipping around. Her eyes widened at my proximity, and I stepped back again guiltily.

"Let's go in, huh?" I asked with a smirk that revealed none of my inner monologue.

I nodded at the shimmery doors of the establishment that I meant. It was across the hall, and people were gathered around outside. And when the door slid open, I saw how many people were inside, cramped together almost as if their continued existence depended upon the vices that would surely be fed there. It was where my kind of people lived. And where people like Nel, I was sure, tried to avoid at all costs.

Suddenly, I wanted that. The idea grew from an impulsive suggestion to a craving. Something about alcohol made people looser. I wanted her to be loose. In more ways than one.

With newfound determination, I decided that she and I were going to go into the cantina, even if I had to drag her in myself.

"Into the cantina?" she repeated dumbly after a while, eyeing it with what I interpreted as disdain.

I couldn't hide a smirk. Her accent bled through her voice, and I found myself wanting her to say it again. She said nothing more though, and she pursed her wide lips.

"Yeah," I said encouragingly. "You know? A place where people go to gather and drink?"

"No, I _know_ what it is!" she said, irritated.

"Oh, sorry, I guess it was the blank look of confusion that came over your face that confused me," I quipped with just a hint of sourness.

She just folded her arms and turned back to the cold window.

"We're just waiting around looking out windows in silence," I continued, "and I think it would be more fun than pacing up and down crowded hallways. Let's face it, we both need a stiff drink."

A beautiful Twi'ilek woman with bright blue skin and a gold headpiece that hugged her forehead sauntered by us both, and I felt heat well up inside of me. She turned her neck seductively and bit her lip when I met her eyes. They were gold, and they twinkled in the low light. She raised long, thin fingers to wave.

"And, if we're lucky, maybe we'll both get laid!" I added, my eyes on the Twi'ilek woman until she disappeared inside with the flick of her lekku. For some reason, this suggestion made me feel nervous around Nel. I decided to glance sidelong at her. She'd stiffened at the suggestion.

I ignored this.

"Come on, gorgeous," I said. "You and me both know that you need to get laid."

She made a sour noise now, and I found my smile broadening at her reluctance.

"I do not need to…" She began loudly, but then she seemed to realize what she was saying, and a subtle flush crept up her cheeks. She leaned in now, as if to whisper a scandal to me, and I found my smile broadening. "… to get _laid_," she finally finished.

"Really? Then why so tense?"

The look she gave me next caused a bubble of laughter too well out of my mouth. She looked so indignant.

"You know why I'm tense, Rand."

"Okay, okay, but can't you just take a break for a second?"

She hesitated now, biting her lip. She turned towards the place. It was called "Easy's." Her intense gaze surveyed the doors of the cantina, as if when she looked away it would reach out and swallow her up. She looked genuinely uncomfortable.

But again, I ignored this.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I suggested.

She winced, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. The pain that had begun to swirl from my chest at the distress in her eyes reminded me that it was still here, despite my selfish desires to force them out of her with alcohol.

"Don't say that," she chided plaintively after a moment.

We met eyes but the plea there made me look away guiltily.

"The only reason I am alive because I avoided places like _that_," she finally admitted quietly.

"You never had any fun?"

"Of course I did," she argued, crossing her arms so that her baggy shirt gathered, revealing her bare midriff. "But not with vices or relaxants or spice."

This surprised me.

"Then how did you forget the war?" I asked, almost without meaning to.

Again, we both winced.

"I just didn't," she said weakly, shrugging.

She looked pointedly away, but I just stared.

I couldn't _imagine _carrying that pain that was obviously there for so long.

"So…no sex, no drugs, no booze?" I asked incredulously. "Almost seems impossible."

"You assume an awful lot," she said again.

Now, I pursed my lips, my eyes roaming over her form. She clung to herself harder, causing her giant shirt to gather. It left more of her skin exposed. I found my eyes straying to where the shirt parted, and suddenly I wanted to drag her in just to fill her up with alcohol.

I needed a chance to take her home. Consequences be damned. I wanted to be selfish. If I was leaving anyway, and we weren't going to be friends, I might as well leave with a _bang_.

I smirked as she began to reprimand me.

"It isn't your business who I'm with or what I do or who I do it with," she said, but not forcefully.

She was just…_shy_?

I smirked.

I could handle shy. This was a game I knew well. Coaxing beautiful women into cantinas was something of a hobby of mine in times past, whether they were shy or emotionally inaccessible.

_I can do this_, the smarmy part of myself told my hesitant side. _This is what we both need._

When I looked at her again, I realized that she had been talking about her past, and I kicked myself for being so lost in my own skin that I hadn't been listening.

It only motivated me more to bring her inside so that I could take advantage of her.

"Come on," I said with a little more force, reaching out with my hands before I remembered again that I should not touch her. "Don't tell me you don't approve of cantinas. It might break my heart, princess."

"I'm not a princess," she said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Could have fooled me," I said, prodding at her like I always did, but this time with a gentler stick.

She opened her mouth indignantly but no noise came out. Instead, a weak smile split from her face like a groundquake, and, even if I didn't get her to come with me, I felt victorious because of that.

But I was a voracious hunter, and I would not give up so easily. I felt my smirk transform into something predatory. She saw it too. I saw it in her eyes, but I ignored the red flags they were waving. Instead, I found myself stiffening with anticipation of the dark and intoxicating hours to come. After all, sexual frustration was putting it lightly. I found it hard to even focus on not focusing on her.

I opened my mouth to renew my campaign to get her inside, but what she said next surprised me.

"If you want to go by yourself," she said, not unkindly, "don't let me keep you."

_But I don't want to go by myself, _I thought_. I want to go with you._

Getting her drunk, getting her talking, and then getting her home before sneaking out was like killing multiple birds with one stone.

But her resistance was starting to grate at me.

"You don't want to go with me?" I asked edgily.

"No, I'm just not a big fan of…"

She trailed off, and to my ears it sounded like a lame excuse.

"What? I'm not good enough company for you?"

I found myself scowling. The thought ruined my mood. We both knew it was true, but it hurt me when I dangled the thought from her. What was worse, she didn't immediately correct me. She opened her mouth several times, but finished by closing it, shaking her head at me a little pathetically, as if she didn't know what to say.

It made me feel dirty.

I walked past her angrily.

"Just forget it," I muttered, hating myself.

I also felt foolish – sexually and emotionally exhausted.

I was likely coming across as a little desperate. Maybe that was because I was desperate.

It didn't make me feel better.

"It's not that," she suggested, walking after me.

"Could have fooled me," I said again, beginning to walk faster. "Next time you pass judgment, give me the decency of telling it to my face!"

She moved in front of me now. I tried to move around her, but she put her hands on my arm to stop me. Her soft lines had hardened, and the authority in her eyes was not lost on me. Static also seemed to crackle at the place where her fingers touched, and I felt my heart begin to race in that weak way that was unfortunately becoming familiar.

"Hey!" she said loudly enough so that other people walking by us glanced at her and I. "I never said that you weren't good enough for me! You came up with that all on your own!"

I tried to roll my eyes and look away from her, but she removed her hand on my arm and put it on my cheek to prevent me from looking away.

"You don't _get_ to put words in my mouth," she snapped at me.

Any bitterness I might have felt had been drummed out at the presence of that hand, and I hesitated. I felt the need to swallow but also a sensation that made it difficult to do so.

"You hear me?" she pressed.

Still, I couldn't move. My thoughts felt cloudy. I had never been affected that way before. I began to wonder if it was some Force trick, but she removed her hand after she noticed that it was the cause for my hesitation and looked away.

As she turned, I saw that she felt sad.

I'd begun to notice that. Tears came at any conflict, not out of hurt.

She was so helpless that I had to walk on egg shells.

"Come on," I said was just a pinch of guilt. "You're right. I was putting words in your mouth, and I'm sorry." Like it always did, my mouth took over. "But how else am I supposed to figure out what you think? You don't really talk much."

She said nothing but stood tall at this. I moved around to face her, but she turned away again. But not before I saw that she was fighting tears.

I suddenly felt awful, and that pity emerged like it always did when I realized how helpless she was.

"Hey, hey, hey," I tried uncomfortably. "Don't do that. You don't have to cry about it."

I heard her make some kind of confirming noise, as if she was trying to comply but could not.

"You don't have to talk me down," she finally managed. "I'm not a child. I have to stop acting like it."

"Come on," I said, feeling worse by the second. "You're not acting like a kid. You're probably the most responsible out of the three of us."

She snorted appreciatively at this, and a reluctant smile came to her face again. That glorious thankful look in her eyes shaded the brown colors there, bringing with it the good feeling again.

"That's probably not saying much, is it?" she asked wearily.

"Probably not, no," I said with another uncomfortable smile.

She let out a heavy sigh and peered at me in a way that reminded me of Kreia. It was pensive, but also analytical, as if when our eyes met she knew what I was thinking and when I was thinking it. The only difference between her and the old hag with that her presence was almost soothing. If the two of them were a pair of hands, Kreia would've been the hands of a farmer or miner – rough, calloused, insensitive, and dangerous. She would use her hands to rip open my skull and scoop things out with sharpened claws.

Nel would have been the hands of a healer – smooth, supplicating, gentle, soft, warm.

She was all the things that I could see that she needed.

I just wished I knew how to reciprocate.

"I wish I would stop crying," she said weakly.

She glanced up at me sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. I don't…I'm not used to this. Talking. I'm not actually upset."

"I know," my mouth provided after a while.

"I need to grow a spine," she said, putting her hands on her back tiredly.

I wanted to tell her I already recognized her as extraordinarily brave, but I found it hard to think or move, being so close to her.

But then, abruptly, she crossed the hall to stand just out of the way of the door. "Easy's" was on the other side.

Excitement churned in me as I went to stand next to her, and the victorious feeling reemerged.

Then, I looked at her.

Her dark eyes were wide, but she didn't look at me. Instead, she seemed as if she was peering into the in-between. Her mouth was taut, and if I didn't see that her knees were so weak, she would have been almost totally still.

I recognized the look on her face instantly.

And I was pressuring her into feeling that way.

I was a dick.

"Hey," I began with that same soothing, comforting voice that kept emerging whenever she got like this.

So strange that I was trying so hard to smooth over things for a Jedi.

"Don't be upset," I urged with a hint of desperation. "Let's just…we don't have to –"

"I'm not upset," she said emotionlessly, her eyes still caught in the in-between.

And wherever that was, it was scary. Just like before, I wanted to yank her from it.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked me eventually.

Her own voice startled her into the present.

"I'm not sure you want to, princess," I said quietly, retreating at the implications of having her confidence.

"Loud noises bother me," she explained, almost as if she couldn't hear me.

I stood tall and the motion caused her to look at me.

"Loud noises and crowds. And dark, small places with no windows."

She laughed sheepishly.

"I know that's dumb, but I just…"

"Why not?" I finally managed to ask.

"Because it reminds me of war," she said simply, and she made a point not to look at me this time.

To this, I had no reply. But I was not foolish enough to try to coax her in again. In fact, that small balloon of respect that I felt for her inflated just a little bit more. Empathy and sadness filled me to the brim, and I shifted on the balls of my feet nervously, wishing I had something witty or slimy to say to make it all better again. To make it like it was with any other woman: shallow and meaningless and ultimately unsatisfying. I filled the ears of sluts and whores with bad jokes and a conveniently handsome smirk.

But I didn't have anything like that now. Not for something like this. Not for someone like her.

Because it was how I felt. I hated cantinas and alcohol and vices and the unscrupulous community that surrounded them. I forced myself to endure it out of some kind of twisted self-loathing. The fact that she staved off this hatred for herself proved to me that she was a lot tougher than I thought.

"Not dumb," I whispered, finally tugging gently at her elbow.

She only flinched a little but she looked at me with so much guilt. I couldn't stand it. She thought she was ruining my fun.

I was a dick.

I looked away, whispering,

"It's not dumb," a little firmer. "Let's just…" I sighed. "Let's just get to bed."

The walk back to the room was silent.


End file.
